Expanding Steele
by RSteele82
Summary: (Canon Series) Four years after their faux marriage upon a fishing boat in Bonds of Steele, Remington and Laura decide it is time to expand their family. When the past collides with the present, their family is placed at risk and the Steele's have no choice but to re-envision their future.
1. Prologue

**_The Canon Series_**

 ** _Four years after their faux marriage upon a fishing boat in Bonds of Steele, Remington and Laura decide it is time to expand their family. When the past collides with the present, their family is placed at Risk and the Steele's have no choice but to re-envision their future._**

 ** _For the most effective reading, my work should be read in chronological order as many of my one off's are spun into the history of the characters later on down the line. The chronological order of what I've written to date are as follows:_**

 ** _Steele Torn & Trying to Holt On_**  
 ** _Cannes Steele be Trusted (co-written with the super-talented SuzySteele)_** _ **  
**_ ** _Steele Forsaken_**  
 ** _Steele Mending_**  
 ** _Steele Working out the Details_**  
 ** _Steele Settling In_**  
 ** _Steele Finding Comfort_**  
 ** _Steele Holting on To Christmas_**  
 ** _Steele Holting on To The Holidays_**  
 ** _Holting on to the Moments_**  
 ** _Steele Cold Relief_**  
 ** _Steele Cloned_**  
 ** _Steele Hurdling Obstacles_**  
 ** _Steeling the Big Apple_**  
 ** _Steele Dying to Get it Right_**  
 ** _Holting Steele - Part 1 of the Be Steele My Heart series_**  
 ** _Be Steele My Heart – Part 2 of the Be Steele My Heart series_**  
 ** _Steele Pursued – Part 1 of the Steele Tested series_** _ **  
**_ ** _Steele Tested – Part 2 of the Steele Tested series_** _ **  
**_ ** _Steele Thankful  
Down the Rabbit Holt  
Steele in Wonderland  
Expanding Steele  
_**

 ** _Standard Disclaimers apply: I hold no ownership or rights to the series or characters. I simply choose to borrow the characters I love to write._**

* * *

Prologue

 _May 12, 1990 Catalina Island_

Remington and Laura strolled along the water's edge, hands held, fingers weaved together, enjoying the balmy night air and one another's company. It had become an annual pilgrimage of theirs, this trip to Catalina, a tradition begun by Laura three years prior. A nod, if you will, to that fateful day when they had 'married' on a tuna boat in order to prevent Remington's deportation. The events on that day had set off a series of incidences that could have destroyed them – one could even argue came close to doing precisely that – but had instead provided the impetus to admit what they meant to each other. A wedding in Greece had followed, then the purchase of their home in Holmby Hills, and not even quite ten months later, the announcement the child they adored was on the way. Thus, May tenth had stopped being, for Laura, the worst day of her life, but yet another day to be celebrated, much like October first, which marked the day she and Remington had met.

Five months into their 'official' marriage, they'd faced a pregnancy scare. Instead of dodging and denying their feelings on the matter, as they would have throughout those first years when they did a pretty dance around one another, they'd spoken openly and honestly about both their hopes... and fears. Chief among Laura's concerns was that once they began a family it was imperative she and Remington remember that they and their relationship must take priority above all else. In her eyes, a child's security, their understanding of healthy relationships, began in the home. So, although the sun rose and set on Baby Steele in both their opinions, they'd committed to stealing away alone together thrice times annually: Their weekend trip to Catalina in May while the baby was in Frances and Donald's loving care; a long weekend at Ashford, while Baby Steele was smothered in love and attention by Thomas and Catherine; and again over the first weekend in October, when Mildred claimed her exclusive time with the wee one. There was no denying their first separation from their child had been difficult for both of them, but over time they'd found the time alone together only made the Steele household all the happier.

"Laura?" Remington's voice broke into Laura's thoughts. He'd cast many a sideways glance at her as they'd walked in quiet, so she'd simply been biding her time until he brought up whatever it was on his mind.

"Hmmmm?" She tilted her head and looked at him as she hummed the response.

"I'd like for us to consider having another child," he announced, lifting her hand to his mouth to brush his lips against her knuckles, never breaking stride.

 _Alright, Steele, old sport, you've put the idea out there. Don't press. She'll need weeks to consider all the pros and cons before she's prepared to discuss the matter further._ He resisted the urge to release a sigh. The idea had been on his mind for weeks, and he'd held his tongue until he could bring up the suggestion when they were not wrapped up in the swirls of activity at the office and home.

Next to him, his wife smiled and laughed silently to herself. The announcement had not been unexpected. Over the course of the past month, she'd caught him watching as she took her birth control pill, had found him staring thoughtfully at her stomach. It hadn't taken a great deal of savvy to interpret those thoughtful moments that soon grew into wistful looks of longing. She knew the topic would come up sooner or later, and had resolved to allow him to choose time and place.

"Alright," she agreed. At first the answer was greeted by a turn of the head, a quick smile and a squeeze of her hand. But after two paces, his feet had come to a standstill. Hand still held in his, she turned to face him, lifting her brows in silent question.

"Alright you'll consider it..." he swallowed hard, trying not to let his hopes get the better of him, "... or alright, you agree we should have another child?" It took all her self-control not to show her hand, to portray the image of a woman considering a grave matter. His face fell in disappointment.

"The latter, I think," she finally answered. It took a long second for him to compute the answer for what it was, but when he did, he snatched her to him and latched his mouth over hers. He devoured her lips, then delved deep, savoring her sweetness, his arms clutching her tightly against him, a hand burying itself in the silken curls she'd allowed to riot freely for the weekend.

"My God, I adore you," he told her gruffly next to her ear when the kiss ended, keeping her locked in his embrace, his cheek pressed against the side of her head. She lay her lips against his neck, allowed them to linger, then leaned back in his arms to look up at him, cherishing the warmth she always found waiting for her in those blue eyes.

"You're not so bad yourself, _big guy,_ " she teased, leaning back and patting him on the shoulder, then squealing when he swept her up in his arms. "What are you _doing_?" He tipped his head down to steal another delectable little kiss.

"Mustn't let our child making skills get rusty, Mrs. Steele," he told her with a waggle of his brow. She laughed and drew a hand through his hair, as he carried her across the sand towards their villa.

"I'd think we'd have obtained expert status in that area by now, Mr. Steele," she observed, as she strung a trail of kisses along his jaw, then down his neck, enjoying the goosebumps that, four years later, still scattered across his skin when she suckled on that place just beneath his ear. He groaned quietly at the sensation.

"Then I suppose, we'll have to create a whole new classification of perfection to aspire to," he countered, a bit breathily. Crossing the threshold of the villa, he waited until she pulled the sliding doors closed, then turned and fell backwards onto the bed, she landing atop him. "And you know how much I enjoy a challenge,"

She was laughing as he cupped her face in his hands and drew her lips down to his.

* * *

 ** _A/N: Just a sneak peek, as promised. Expanding Steele will begin July 23rd - a week from Sunday - after Fractured Steele concludes_**.


	2. Chapter 1: Countdown

CHAPTER 1: COUNTDOWN

 _October 7, 1987 Thirty-seven weeks and three days_

If Laura had even the slightest concern Remington's attraction to her would wane the more ungainly she became as her pregnancy progressed, those fears would have been firmly put to bed. If anything, those unconscious touches he'd bestowed upon her across the years only increased in frequency, and, at home, the man could barely keep his hands off her. Oh, not just sexually, although he remained as ardent a lover as ever and seemed to revel in the challenge of finding new positions deigned to bring her the greatest pleasure. He certainly made no secret of how much he savored her normally responsive body's even greater sensitivity and his delight in being able to tease her even more easily over the edge into oblivion.

But, their very vigorous bedroom life aside, it was moments like these, right now, which he craved the most: Her reclining between his legs on the couch, her stomach bared so his sensitive fingers could feel their child's every movement, while they spoke quietly in front of a low burning fire. His hand followed the movement of what he believed was a small baby's bum, moving from left to right in its mother's womb.

"Baby Steele is quite active this evening," he observed. She lay her left hand over his, and toyed with his wedding band.

"Baby Steele has been active _all day_ ," she corrected, then added a bit sheepishly, "I might be paying the price for that cup of coffee at lunch."

"Lau-ra," he drawled, ducking his head around her neck so she could see the look of censure upon his face. She held up a hand, in response.

"I know, I know, we agreed: no caffeine. But you try hauling around an entire extra person in your body day in and day out and see how tired _you get,_ " she defended. "Sometimes a hefty dose of sugar isn't enough to get me through." She peered down at her belly. "Besides, I've already gained twenty-six pounds. Twenty-six! It will take me a year to lose it all." She'd been appalled the day prior when the scale had registered a whopping one-hundred-twenty-seven pounds.

"And yet you remain the most beautiful woman in every room," he countered, bussing her against the top of her head.

"You're biased," she retorted with her normal claim. He nodded his head.

"That I am. How could I not be, when it's my child that has you so gloriously rounded?" he challenged, as his right hand caressed what felt like foot, pushing against her belly. "This... testament... to what you feel for me, your faith in us? Hmmmm? But it makes what I say no less true." She sighed and relaxed against him.

"You're very good at this, you know." He grinned unseen.

"I've had a lot of practice of late, but that too makes what I say no less true." He'd had both practice and a bevy of advice from Zeth, Christos, Murphy and Jason on what _not_ to say, lest he wished to incur his pregnant wife's wrath. He lifted a hand to draw the back of his fingers along cheek and jaw, before using two fingers against her chin to turn her head to look at him. "In fact, I plan to show you very shortly..." he touched his lips to her nose "... precisely..." a touch of his lips to her chin "...how desirable..." a brush of lips against her cheek "... I find you." His lips settled over hers, and he partook greedily of the lips offered up to him. He caressed, teased, nibbled then probed briefly, before withdrawing, taking satisfaction in the dazzled brown eyes that looked back at him.

"A hands-on demonstration, I take it?" Smiling, he leaned down and kissed her again.

"At the very least." With a waggle of his brows, he settled back in behind her, his focus returning to the baby who'd just given his hand a swift kick.

"A future dancer in the making," he murmured.

"Or soccer player," Laura countered, quietly. "Did you speak with your Father today?"

"Mmmm. He and Catherine will arrive Sunday evening and remain until right after the New Year." She smiled, and began toying with his ring again.

"That'll be nice for you." She felt him nodding behind her. "Are they staying at the Wiltshire House?"

"Yes, yes. And your mother?" She let out a long breath.

"Arriving next weekend and staying until a week after the baby's born," she provided.

"Does she believe the accommodations at the Rossmore will suit her needs?" he queried.

"She says they will, but you know Mother. I'm sure she'll find something to complain about," she bemoaned. "Frances, at least, is _thrilled_ Mother won't be there criticizing, giving advice... cleaning." He chuckled warmly behind her. She struggled to push herself up into a sitting position, tugging down her shirt as she did so. "I'm want a bath. My back's killing me," she told him.

"Care for company?" Standing she looked down ruefully for her toes which had disappeared a couple weeks back.

"If you think you can fit," she groused, drawing another chuckle from him as he stood to guide her upstairs towards the bedroom.

"I hardly think that will be an issue as even rotund with child, you are a wisp of a thing." She scowled at him over her shoulder. He couldn't be sure if her displeasure was directed toward his description of her tummy or her stature, but he suspected a combination of both. No matter, for despite her occasional gripes about her size, he knew she relished every moment of the pregnancy. There was a serenity about her these last months that he'd never laid witness to before. He couldn't help but believe he'd remember the rest of his days the look that would cross her face when their child moved within her. It did a man's heart good to know his wife was as mesmerized as he by the tiny life they'd created together.

In the bedroom, Remington slid down the zipper to Laura's dress, then scattered kisses across the back of her neck. She closed her eyes and smiled, reaching for his hand and giving it a squeeze before he left the room to draw the bath, then took a moment for herself, clasping her hands on her belly while looking down at it. In only three weeks, the baby would make its appearance. Girl or boy? Raven hair or auburn? Blue eyes or brown? The instincts of an artist or the analytical mind of a mathematician? She closed her eyes and concentrated on the movement of the baby beneath her hands, inside of her. Whatever he or she would be, they would be an active one.

She'd enjoyed every second of the pregnancy, surprising even herself. She'd expected to feel resentful when the pregnancy imposed its natural limitations on her and her job, but that day had never come. Oh, she'd suffered many a wistful pang, wishing it was she out on the streets chasing down leads with Remington, but her mathematician's logic had bided her well: given he'd been willing to sacrifice his life to make sure their child arrived into the world safely, then she could willingly sit out a few months of the action to do the same. And, on those days when logic was not near at hand, the image of Remington lying on her lap in the loft, his hand touching her stomach while his eyes asked what his lips couldn't – is our child safe – would flash through her memory, and she'd be chastened immediately by the reminder of what was most important of all.

But, all that said, she was ready for the pregnancy to end and the baby to arrive. When the baby wasn't tap dancing on her bladder, making her use the restroom every fifteen minutes, it was knocking the wind straight out of her with swift kicks to the diaphragm. She'd lost the ability to wear heels more than a month ago, and was relegated to flats, _if_ she could even wear them as several times she'd been forced to wear tennis shoes to the office... and then only after Remington had tied them, trying his best to conceal an amused smile that she was unable to reach them. The burden of the extra weight on her petite frame left her shoulders and back aching by evening. And, she'd come to the horrifying realization she might have to eat her words very, very soon.

* * *

 _ **"I'm looking forward to the days when you'll need to be hauled to your feet."**_

 _ **"You're confusing your movies and reality again, Remington."**_

* * *

Thus far, she'd managed to get up and down from a sitting or prone position wholly by her own device, but with increasingly more difficulty. So far, Remington had resisted the urge to offer his help, but on more than on occasion she'd caught the glimmer of a smirk that told her he was eagerly awaiting the day she'd be forced to ask. The very idea made her want to stomp her foot, knowing she'd hear until the end of days exactly how much the movies reflected real life.

Then, of course, there was the irritating fact of how she'd changed in the eyes of the world around her. She was no longer Laura Steele, nee Holt, intelligent, competent woman and private investigator, but had been relegated to the status of 'incubator of new life.' Somehow conversations, from the most mundane to meetings with new clients or interviews of suspects had suddenly turned into a slew of questions directed towards _her_ – 'When's the little blessing due to arrive?', 'Is it a girl or boy?' and her favorite, 'Have you signed the baby up for preschool yet?'. Then there were the clients who looked at her in horror, inevitably blurting out 'You're not going to be investigating this in your condition, are you?' She'd swallowed many a growl of utter frustration at those. But the worst of the worst were every woman over the age of forty who felt the need to touch her rounded belly. Many a time she'd stomped into the house or Remington's office threatening...

"I swear to you, Remington, the next person who puts their hands on me I'm going to clobber!"

In response to which she'd receive an amused smile and much placating. If she heard 'Now, Laura...' cross his lips another time, she very well might throttle him, instead.

And, selfishly, she admitted, she longed to be able to get as close to Remington as she wished. She missed the weight of his long, lean frame covering hers, feathering her fingers down the length of his back, the feel of his bare bum beneath her hands when they made love. She yearned to splay partway across his body, her head resting in the nook of his shoulder, to run her fingers through the hair on his chest, to stroke his side as she fell asleep pressed against his warmth, wrapped in his wonderfully comforting, earthy smell. She positively itched, to wrap her legs around his hips, to use hands, mouth and words, to make him drive into her hard and fast. But above all, she ached to feel him collapse atop her, breathless, covered in sweat, his face pressed into the crook of her neck, while she burrowed a hand in his damp hair as the other stroked his back, calming his body in those moments after he'd buried himself as deep within her as he could, then shuddered in her arms as he came apart inside her.

 _Three more weeks,_ she sighed to herself. A _nd twenty-six pounds_ , she added. How much their lives would change in that time: the birth of their child, many sleepless nights, she imagined, and it would no longer be just she and Remington. There were days it scared the hell out of her. Was she ready for this? Would she be _good_ at this? They were still so new at marriage, still working out the kinks. Would they find a way to continue nurturing their relationship while learning how to be a team when it came to raising a happy, secure, well-adjusted child? Many a night, she had lay awake staring at the wall, as Remington would say, masticating all those concerns.

"Bath's ready, love. Only thing missing is you," the man himself called to her from where he leaned against the wall, wrapped now only in a black silk robe. Laura startled from her thoughts, then smiled over her shoulder at him.

"Coming," she answered. Ducking into their closet, she stripped down and donned her own robe, then joined him in the bathroom. Slipping out of her robe, she tossed it across the chair of her vanity without a trace of modesty. Taking his offered hand, she stepped into the tub, then waited for him to join her.

Modesty. There was another thing that had gone the way of the wind. Entering her sixth month of pregnancy, she'd become increasingly self-conscious of her rapidly expanding form, and had, for a time, made it a point to crawl stealthily from bed to shower and dress for the day as Remington slept, while at the same time she'd stopped wearing his pajama shirts, which she could no longer button over her tummy comfortably, purchasing some modest, cotton nightgowns to wear instead. Having spent a lifetime assessing people based on their actions, he'd caught on rapidly, of course, and had made his thoughts on the matter clear, with nary a word said. On day four, he'd climbed into the shower shortly after her, where he'd washed her head-to-toe before seducing her beneath the gentle spray of the water. When she'd stepped from the shower, dried off, then tied the towel around her, it had been quickly tugged free, and dropped to the ground, his arms wrapping around her in replacement. He'd waited until her eyes met his in the bathroom mirror, a flush stealing over her skin in answer to the naked desire she saw burning white hot in his eyes. Only when she leaned into him, relaxing into his embrace, did he buss her on the cheek and leave the room to dress, point made.

As for those nightgowns? Well, he'd made his opinion on that matter very clear as well, sliding into bed one night, garbed in pants and shirt. Regardless that the nightgown reached nearly to her knees, he'd worked it up until his hand lay on her bare stomach, leaving her with a mound of fabric uncomfortably piled at her waist. She might have adjusted to that particular situation, but what she found intolerable was the fact there was nary an inch of his skin available to her seeking hands, save for his feet, hands and face. She'd shifted and squirmed, finally turning her head towards where he lay spooned at her back.

"Lose the shirt, Mr. Steele," she whispered the order. Behind her, his lips lifted in a smile, the words taking him back to the first time she'd said those very words to him.

"Bit of a nip in the air, don't you think?" he asked by way of refusal. Her brows knit together.

"Bit of a—It's the middle of the summer," she protested.

"Mmmm, that it is. The air conditioner must be set a bit on the low side." He shifted closer to her and feigned going to sleep. Her frown deepened.

"Then turn it up." He shook his head.

"We're both comfortable, covered as we are. Let's get ourselves a few winks, hmm?" He bussed her on top of her head, then snuggled down behind her again. _Wait for it, Steele, old sport._ He felt the tension in her frame, as she plucked absently at his sleeve, while her mind focused on the obstacle between her and sleep. When what he was about finally clicked, she let out an aggravated puff of air and flopped over to her back.

"Oh, for god's sake!" she muttered the oath, crossing her arms and shaking her head. "It won't button." He pressed up on an elbow resting his head in his hand and looked a down at her with amusement.

"Given it is perpetually in the state of being unbuttoned once you come to bed, I'm not sure I see the problem," he noted lightly, with a lift of his brows.

"It's _your_ shirt," she reminded him.

"Mmmm, as it has been for near on two years now," he agreed, lifting her hair over her shoulder and cupped her face in his hand. "I still don't see the problem." She flopped back to her back and covered her face with her hands. "Lau-ra..." he drew out her name. With a long sigh, hands still covering her face, she shook her head.

"I don't feel like myself," she admitted with considerable difficulty. "I feel ... gawky... ungainly..." she dropped her hands. "... huge. I can't even fit into a _man's_ clothes."

"I don't see how that's possible, given I find you to be the most extraordinarily lovely woman I've ever seen," he told her, sincerely, tracing her cheek with the back of a pair of fingers. She turned on her side to face him, laying the side of her head on folded hands.

"You're biased," she accused quietly.

"I disagree. But even if that were the case, shouldn't the opinion of the man you share a life, a bed with, hold some sway?" he posited. And with those words, she'd relaxed and smiled.

"It holds a great deal of sway, Mr. Steele."

"Then, do you think we might dispose of this..." he plucked at the sleeve of the gown she was wearing, unable to come up with a suitable description, "...yeesh." Her laugh trickled across the room even as she took his hand and sat up.

"It's not _that_ bad," she scolded, lifting the gown over her head.

"Love, I haven't seen anything quite so matronly since Scarlett sat vigil at Melanie's bedside," he dissented, removing his shirt and helping her into it.

" _Gone with the Wind_ , MGM, 1939," she recited automatically. "Need I remind you it was set in the nineteenth century?" He raised his brows at her.

"Precisely my point." He dropped a kiss on her lips, buttoning the final button that would close. They settled back on their sides, spooning together. Automatically his arm embraced her around the stomach, his hand lying against her taut skin. She sighed in satisfaction as her hand stroked his bare arm.

"Lau-ra..." Remington called to her again, jerking her attention from memories of the past to the present.

"Hmmm. What?" she asked, looking back over her shoulder at him.

"Caught you doing a bit of wool gathering again, eh?" he grinned.

"I seem to be doing that a lot lately," she confirmed, shifting slightly forward as his hands worked their way down her back, releasing tight muscles. "Mmmm, that feels wonderful," she complimented. "What's on your schedule tomorrow?" He pursed his lips as he gave the question some thought.

"Young Burton and I are going to follow up on those leads you ferreted out on the Marsten case in the morning, and in the afternoon, I'll have him accompany Brandon and I on the initial assessment of Lloyd's Jewelers," he provided.

"Do you think you might find time in there to have lunch with me at Casa Bianca?" She hummed as another tight muscle gave way. He chuckled behind her.

"Have a craving for an eggplant and sausage pizza, do you?" He found it positively endearing she'd be complaining about her weight one moment, only to rivet all focus on a craving the next.

"Yes," she sighed the word, vexed with herself. "But even more so, I want to get out of the office for an hour or two. Math major or not, I'm not cut out for sitting at a desk day-in-and-day-out." Leaning forward, he pressed his lips against her shoulder.

"It won't be too much longer," he reminded her, "And I'll be more than happy to hand off every last bit of legwork so you might scamper after leads to your heart's content."

"A sacrifice, I'm sure," she noted dryly.

"Laura, by the time I get to my morning paper, the news contained within has already been permanently etched into the annals of history," he bemoaned. She let out a sharp, quiet laugh, while stroking a leg with her hand.

"Believe me, I want things to return to normal as much as you," she assured him.

It was another, surprise, this, although she wasn't sure why it was. When she'd been healing from surgery after her kidnapping at Roselli's hands, he'd taken the weight of the Agency on his shoulders as he was doing now. Rarely did he complain, without an opening, as she'd given him just now. She had, however, been subjected, once that door was open, to long running dissertations on the havoc the pounding of the pavement was reaping on his fine leather shoes and his belief that the manager of the movie theater where he took in a matinee Wednesday afternoons had likely reported him as a missing person by now.

"How is Zack picking up on the security side of things?" she asked. Zack had begun tagging along with Remington three days ago, and they'd yet sat down to discuss his progress.

"He asks a good deal of questions, but never the same one twice. He reminds me of you, in a way, actually," he mulled, "An eye for detail, mind like a steel trap. That said, while it's a bit early to make an assessment, I suspect his heart lies in investigation, again much like yourself, whereas Brandon enjoys the challenge of outwitting the fox before it can enter then henhouse, so to speak." With a bit of difficulty, she maneuvered around in the tub then straddled his lap. His hands caught her hips to ease her down, before an arm circled her waist and the other hand burrowed in her hair. The iris of his eyes darkened, as he searched her face. "Something on your mind, love?"

"Don't you know?" she asked, with a lift of her brows.

She dragged her fingers through his hair, then used her fingertips to caress, feather light, behind his ears. His hands slid up to cup her face and he touched his lips to hers with a hum. Patting her on her bum, he helped her stand, then climbed from the tub before sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her to their bed. Laying her down, he joined her, then bent over and placed a firm hand on her moving stomach while she watched.

"Tá sé am a chodladh, ceann beag," he spoke to their child moving within her. "Do Da riachtanais a chuid ama ina n-aonar le do mháthair anois." Propping herself up on her elbows, she watched in fascination. He'd done this many times previously, and she was still astounded when their child settled beneath his hands, stilling completely within a minute's time.

"Let's hope Baby Steele is as susceptible to your charms outside the womb as in," she mused, as he stretched out on his side next to her.

"And Mrs. Steele? Is she susceptible to my charms? Hmmmm?" he hummed, lifting her hair over her shoulder, baring her neck to his lips. She shivered as he trailed those lips, whisper soft, over the sensitive skin.

"Mrs. Steele has, _at times_ , been susceptible," she breathed, her fingertips caressing the back of his neck, making him do some shivering of his own.

"Mmmmm," he hummed, blazing a trail along her jaw. "Might now be such a time?" he queried, his breath against her skin setting it afire.

"We'll see if you can rise to the occasion, Mr. Steele," she teased. He grinned down at her.

"A challenge is it then, love?" he murmured the question, touching his lips to hers. "We both know I'm a man who enjoys the impossible challenge."

The sound of her laughter wafted through the air, right before his lips covered hers.


	3. Chapter 2: Cravings & Fears

Chapter 2: Cravings & Fears

 _October 8, 1987 Pre-dawn hours – Thirty-seven weeks, four days_

Remington reached for Laura in his sleep and found only air beneath his hand, rousing him enough to peek his eyes open and peer at her side of the bed. Finding it empty, he rolled to his other side, slanting his eyes towards the clearly darkened bathroom. Flopping onto his back, he half-laughed, half-groaned before sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and running his hands through his hair to put it in some semblance of order. With another chuckle, he left the bed and retrieved his robe from the bathroom before seeking out his errant partner and wife.

Propping a hip upon a barstool at the kitchen counter, he laughed quietly, drawing Laura's chagrined attention from where she stood at the refrigerator testing various packages and containers for what would answer her body's demands. Nevertheless, she unwrapped a package of cheese, sniffed at it, then shriveled her nose before rewrapping it and reaching for a tub of sour cream. He winced as she dragged her finger along the inside of the lid, sampling the bit found there. Again, she shriveled her nose and rejected her find.

"Have any idea what it is you're wanting, love?" he wondered. She knit her brows in concentration.

"Something creamy," she provided.

"Try the fettuccini alfredo, third shelf down on the left," he suggested. Her eyes lit up and she plucked the container from the shelf, opened it up and sampled. Her shoulders sagged in disappointment.

"It's not spicy enough." Her eyes scoured the refrigerator again. Her eyes narrowed on something and, mouth watering, she picked up two eggs. "And eggs. I want eggs." He was on the move immediately. He'd already awoken twice during this pregnancy to alarms blaring, a kitchen filled with smoke, and cookware in serious jeopardy of being ruined. Snatching the eggs from her hands, he gave her a pat on the hip.

"I know just the thing. Eggs benedict with a bit of cayenne, hmmmm?" She licked her lips as he easily lifted her and plunked her down on the counter. He quickly removed three additional eggs, butter, a package of Canadian bacon and a lemon from the fridge, before closing it and gathering the English muffins from a cabinet. She shriveled her nose, drawing a questioning nose.

"No Canadian bacon," she disqualified, then thought further, "Or English muffins." He paused, then nodded.

"Two poached eggs in a bowl of hollandaise it is, then. Shan't take but a few minutes." In short order, he had the double boiler and two sauce pans on the stove, the butter melting and the remainder of the sauce's ingredients mixed together in a bowl, only to find her brows knitted together again. "What is it, love?"

"Do we have any crushed red pepper?" she asked, hopefully.

"We do," he confirmed, retrieving it from the spice cabinet. He added it liberally to the egg mixture. Bemused, he watched as she lowered herself, with considerable difficulty, from the counter. _Stubborn woman that she is, she'll battle to the death before asking for assistance._ That day was coming, they both knew it, but she'd prolong the inevitable for as long as she possibly could.

He watched, as she rooted through the refrigerator again while he poached her eggs, finally emerging with avocado and a can of Reddi-whip, a product he'd protested being in his fridge amongst more reputable foods, in his opinion, even having argued he could make her a batch of fresh whipped cream anytime she so desired. He'd given up the fight the night he'd come downstairs to find her standing before the fridge, head tipped back, squeezing the trigger and swallowing the sweet topping by the mouthful. He'd been forced to resign himself to accepting the small victory of eliminating pseudo-cheese in a can, of all things, from their cupboards by making certain a wide selection of cheeses was cubed and sliced, waiting in an airtight container whenever a craving struck.

Those cravings were at once fascinating and stomach turning... not to mention often resulting in sleep deprivation for them both. The first night one had struck, he'd found himself in the M3 searching for an all-night market at three in the morning. He'd finally come home near dawn with the double chocolate chip ice cream and green pepper she'd been desiring, then had watch in muted horror as she'd dipped said pepper into the ice cream, humming her appreciation. He'd made it a point to keep both items stocked in the sub-zero after that, only to be roused a week later to find her fairly coming out of her skin in need of a 'hot dog all the way' and a fruit smoothie. Another midnight trip to the market had turned into two, as when he'd sat a freshly made hot dog with mustard, ketchup, relish and onions before her she'd looked at him as though he'd just announced her cat had died.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he questioned. She sighed, and stared forlornly at the plate.

"I hate ketchup," she bemoaned. He crooked a brow at that, given hundreds of times in their association he'd watch her lathe each individual french fry in the condiment.

"Alright," he swooped the plate away, with a smile. "I'll make you another."

"With tomato slices?" That request saw him pushing a tongue into his cheek and furrowing a brow aw he leaned into the fridge where he23q couldn't be seen. _Exchanging a tomato product for the real thing, then?_

"If you'd like," he agreed, retrieving a tomato out of the vegetable bin.

"And pickles?" she added before he'd back out of the ice box.

"Sweet or Dill?"

"Dill," she selected, with a definitive nod of her head. "Oh, and a couple of jalapeno peppers." And with that request, a return to the market was rendered necessary.

In truth, he enjoyed every bit of it, these cravings of hers, as bizarre as they might be. Certainly, he'd kick up a little fuss every now and again for form's sake, but in truth, he'd always taken a great deal of pleasure in keeping that small frame of hers well-nourished. So, if the woman, who'd once subsisted on a carton of yogurt mixed with suspect fruits and luncheon meats, desired eggs drowning in hollandaise sauce at four in the morning, eggs in hollandaise she would receive. If it meant a trip to the market, in the car he'd get. In his eyes, it was the least he could do given she was nourishing their child within her body.

And if it meant watching her dice avocado into that eggs and hollandaise then top it all with the pseudo-whip cream...

He'd do the dishes.

Cowardly? Perhaps. But some of the concoctions she came up were enough for his stomach to turn queasy at the mere thought of them passing over his sensitive palate.

So, he washed and dried the dishes as she ate he did, while his thoughts turned to the comment she'd made earlier in the evening.

* * *

" _ **Let's hope Baby Steele is as susceptible to your charms outside the womb as in."**_

* * *

He was petrified and growing a little more so with each passing day. True, he'd managed to handle the ups-and-downs, ins-and-outs of Laura's pregnancy with finesse, more often than not, but he'd had five years of experience of handling the ephemeral moods of the lovely woman he'd married. _A baby?_ he questioned often. How much experience had he had with an infant? The couple of days they'd spent with little Caruso, when Laura, Mildred and the Hammer had done most of the caretaking then. He'd rocked the babe all of one time and sung a bit of a ditty to him. The only lesson he'd take away from that encounter was to be certain the bottle was closed before testing it, lest you wished to wear its contents.

Any experience he had elsewise with children was with those of the walking and talking variety: Angel, Chris, Laurie Beth, Mindy and Danny. Yes, he did well enough with them. But they certainly didn't require midnight feedings, nappy changes, burping, and the like. Even more so, they could tell you when they didn't feel well, were frightened or just needed a bit of comforting. With an infant, it appeared it was all bloody well guess work. Nappy clean and dry, belly full, what then?

Then there was the birth of their babe itself. He believed he'd likely damn to perdition the rest of his life those few childbirth classes he and Laura had attended before they'd both raised the flag of surrender. Not only had they been surrounded by a half dozen other couples who were little more than children themselves, but each week they'd been subjected to slides and films of the apparent blood bath some referred to as labor and birth. When, of course, the instructor hadn't been reiterating over and over again the tremendous pain associated with the process, yet likening the hours of unrelenting pain that more civilized countries might consider torture as 'the beauty of natural childbirth.' Then there had been the ongoing dissertation on mortality rates, meant to comfort, but leaving him with a dozen different ways he might lose Laura prancing about in his head.

Petrified. Yes, that was an apt word for it.

A hand on his arm shook him from his thoughts, and he turned his head to find Laura standing next to him holding her plate and silverware. Pressing up on her toes, she bussed his cheek.

"I'll take care of this," she told him. "Go to bed. I'll be right up."

"We'll do it together," he insisted, emptying her hands and passing her the dish towel.

Ten minutes later, they were back in the comfort of their bed. He held her a little bit closer that evening as those thoughts of all that might go wrong swirled in his head.


	4. Chapter 3: Not Today

Chapter 3: Not Today

 _October 31, 1987 – 40 weeks, 6 days_

Remington's eyes shifted to his watch, noting time and keeping close watch on the second's hand as it ticked time off. They'd already made the trip to Cedars-Sinai once this week and had felt quite the fools when they'd been shipped back off home with a declaration of 'Braxton Hicks,' and he didn't want to find them in the same spot again.

Nor did he wish to find himself on the wrong side of Laura's temper, for the umpteenth time these last two weeks, as she'd finally had enough of peeing every ten minutes, her back and shoulders aching, swollen ankles, and all the extra weight she was carrying, making her weary. To boot, she was beyond irritable that her due date had come and gone, only lengthening, in turn, how long it would be before she could partner with him again and return to hands-on training, rather being 'chained to a desk', as she'd recently likened her time at the office. If nothing else had revealed her darkened disposition, then the way she'd readily accepted the doctor's decree that she should cease going into the office until after the babe's arrival said it all.

 _Eleven minutes apart, ten seconds in duration_ , he mentally noted, before wrapping an arm securely around her again whilst keeping his hand on her stomach to await the next. They'd been enjoying a lazy Sunday morning, dozing the last hour in the hammock on the terrace and she'd slept soundly through each of the contractions so far, calming his nerves enough that he dozed between each, trusting his sensitive fingers to notify him when the next arrived.

Fingers that bloody well betrayed him, he cursed when next he woke, finding Laura quite awake, lying on her back, concentrating her gaze on the ceiling beams above. His hand quickly slid to the center of her rounded tummy, finding it much more firm than during the last contraction he'd monitored. He waited until her stomach softened again before speaking.

"How far apart?" he asked, carefully pressing up on an elbow to look down at her.

"Between eight and ten minutes. They're not very consistent." His eyes scanned her face, looking for any signs of pain. With a smile, she reached up and palmed his cheek.

"They're not bad. Uncomfortable, at worse. It reminds me of how my muscles feel after I've gone for a run for the first time in months," she assured him.

"Perhaps I should ring up the doctor anyway, hmmm?" he suggested. "Last I timed, they were at eleven minutes, so certainly they're closer together."

"Can you help me out?" she requested, having given up her determination not to ask for assistance two weeks back. "I need to use the restroom."

"Of course," he agreed, carefully easing himself out of the hammock before taking her hands and helping her to her feet. "About the doctor…"

"Don't bother," she advised, as she made her way towards the French doors. "The only way I'll be having this baby today is over my dead body," she quipped.

The comment meant to be flippant, at most, left Remington's heart dropping to his toes as the fears he'd been trying to quash came roaring to life. With a rub at his face, he checked his watch. It was near on one o'clock and she and the babe would be looking for lunch soon. Back out on the terrace he turned on the grill to warm, then retired to the kitchen to prepare the Spanish rice and Caesar salad which would accompany the salmon steaks he'd set to marinate that morning. He resolved he'd have no choice but to watch over his stubborn wife, for she'd plant her feet until she was bloody well ready to go.

Remington kept a steady eye on Laura throughout their meal, glancing at his watch when her face blanked, cup or fork stilled. On several occasions, she caught him at it, thinning her lips and lifting her eyes to the heavens, to which she received a pair of narrowed eyes upon her which clearly said _I'm allowing you to do this your way… for now. You'll allow me at least this much._ With a puff of breath, she acknowledged, _stalemate._ Thus, she ignored the glances at his watch as they washed and dried dishes. But when he suggested they watch a movie together once clean-up was done, she'd had far more than enough of his hovering and let it be known.

"Oh, for God's sake," she bit out, tipping her chin back, and plunking her hands on her hips, "I already told you there is no way and hell I'm going to have this baby today! So back off!" His own temper flashed.

"May I point out that only yesterday you'd have given up all you have… myself included… to have this baby arrive," he argued, voice rising. "What in the bloody hell has gotten into you?" She averted her face and tipped her chin up even further, refusing to answer. "Lau-ra," he drawled her name out in warning. Time ticked past as she stubbornly retained her silence. With a flick of a hand in her direction, he waved her off. "Bugger your temper, I'm going to ring up the doctor as—"

"It's Halloween," she interrupted quietly, reluctantly, her shoulders drooping as she spoke. "I'm not having our child on Halloween, Remington," she continued, gaining more bravado as she spoke. "Every birthday will not be Baby Steele's special day but 'It's Halloween… oh, yeah, and his or her birthday.' They won't take cupcakes to school on their birthday, because it will be the day all the kids dress up in costumes and candy is passed out. A birthday party will never be held on the day of their birth because it's _Halloween._ " She crossed her arms in front of her, tipping back her chin again. "I'm not having this baby today, that's all there is too it." As quick as his temper had come on, it disappeared, replaced with amusement. Stepping to her, he gathered her in his arms and bussed the top of her head.

"As stubborn as you may be, love, even you can't control Mother Nature," he reminded her. "If the babe wishes to come today, come, indeed, he or she will."

"There were those who told me I'd never be able to get you to trod the straight and narrow," she rejoined, looking up at him with a bit of sass, "And look at you now. Don't count me out, Mr. Steele."

"Never," he agreed, pursing his lips. "You're holding steady at eight minutes apart. Let's watch a movie, see how things progress. But fair warning, Mrs. Steele: if you drop to six minutes and stay there steadily, I _will_ be ringing up your doctor's office." Dropping her forehead to his chest, she nodded reluctantly.

"Then I get to watch Atomic Man." It was the nearest he'd ever witnessed Laura Holt Steele having a full-on pout, making him chuckle warmly.

"I suppose, if you agree to lie with me, I'll manage to withstand it," he readily agreed.

"And you have to at least _pretend_ to enjoy it," she pressed.

"Oh," he drew out the word, then laughed, "I won't be promising that, love, but I will try to keep my criticisms to the bare minimum, at least."

Four hours later, he'd kept his word and was about to act on another vow as well. An hour ago, consciously or not, Laura had begun to cling to his hand, gripping it tightly as each contraction arrived. Thirty minutes prior, she'd taken to holding her breath, as beads of sweat dotted her forehead. The pains had been arriving steadily at six minutes and were lasting a full half minute. Just as he was about to pull rank, be damned the consequences, she graciously conceded.

"Can you help me up?" she panted after another contraction had ended. "I want to take a shower before we leave." He eased out from behind her and took to his feet, before grasping both her hands and pulling her up.

"Are you sure that's wise?" he asked, visions of her being taken to her knees by one of the pains racing through his vivid imagination.

"Wise or not, since I don't know when I'll have the chance again, I'm taking a shower," she answered. He rubbed his hand against the back of his neck, then conceded with a shake of his head.

"At least let me assist you upstairs," he bartered. That she didn't argue bespoke of the toll the laboring had already taken on her. He tried not to become alarmed when she wordlessly allowed him to help her disrobe and hand her into the shower.

"Call Fred," she managed to remind him, then added, "And Mildred. She'll know who to call."

Remington had to disconnect and redial the doctor's office three times, as his shaking hand caused him to press the wrong buttons. When the call finally connected, after a series of waits while the answering service connected his call, he filled Dr. Miller in on where they stood. As they'd suspected, he was directed to deliver Laura to labor and delivery at once. He didn't even bother to attempt to disguise his nerves during his next two calls.

"Fred, Steele here. Mrs. Steele's in labor. Get here as quickly as possible, mate, and don't bother slowing at the lights," he directed their chauffer.

With Mildred, the conversation was even more brief.

"Mildred, it's me. It's time," he told his surrogate mother.

"I'm on it, Chief. Take care of Mrs. Steele, don't worry about the rest. I've got it."

"Thank you, Mildred. I don't know what we'd do without you."

In the shower, Laura leaned her forehead against the wall, and bit down on her lip so hard she nearly drew blood when another contraction gripped her. In spite of herself, a moan slipped past her lips. She'd given up trying to convince even herself that she wasn't in labor. These pains in no way resembled the minor discomfort that had sent her to the hospital three nights before. Her hands fisted at her sides, knuckles whitening, holding her breath as she tried to remember anything they'd learned from the few Lamaze classes they'd attended. All she could recall was the necessity to breathe through the pains, but she simply couldn't manage to do it. It required every ounce of the stubborn determination for which she was known, to complete her shower, French braid back her hair and pull on a dress. When she came out of the closet, she found Remington standing there waiting, her hospital bag already slung over a shoulder. He stepped forward and embraced her.

"Are you ready, love?" She let out a long, slow sigh and nodded her head against his chest, before tipping it back to look at him.

"As I'll ever be, I guess," she managed a smile. He cupped her cheek and stroked it with a thumb.

"Laura—" he stumbled over the words he wanted to say. She took in the strain around his eyes and caressed his chest with her hand.

"I'll be alright. _We'll_ be alright," she assured. It was all he needed to hear, and nodding, he dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. She raised her brows at him, trying to lighten the suddenly somber mood. "Unless you plan on delivering this baby here at home, maybe we should be on our way?"

Well, _that_ possibility put Remington into motion. After brushing his lips against hers, he led her from the room with a hand on the small of her back.

Deliver the baby at home, indeed.

(TBC)


	5. Chapter 4: The Witching Hour

Chapter 4: The Witching Hour

The trip to the hospital was made in short order, and accompanied by Fred's nervous and frequent glances in the rearview mirror as he assured himself his non-existent baby delivering skills would not be called upon. Laura had never made so much a peep during the trip, simply grabbing Remington's hand and squeezing, whilst pressing her face into his shoulder as each contraction came and went. Remington, himself, waged his own battle, resisting the urge to sweep her up in his arms and carry her inside, reminding himself repeatedly she would be mortified to arrive in the emergency ward in such a manner.

Indeed, true to form, she walked into the hospital chin held hide and with her normal grace – although with a bit of the waddle he adored, and realized he'd miss quite a lot – and no one looking upon her would guess she was in the midst of active labor. Twenty minutes later, garbed in a generic gown, she was lying prone on a bed in a private room as a nurse hooked her up to a fetal monitor and checked her progress, while Remington nervously kept himself to the head of the bed, clutching her hand as she winced when the nurse's hand disappeared under the sheet. He lost a layer of color in his face when he realized what, exactly, the nurse must be doing beneath that sheet to cause Laura to react as she had.

"Five centimeters and seventy-five percent effaced," the nurse announced, as she snapped off her gloves and threw them in the refuse can. "I'll call Miller's office and let him know we'll be seeing a baby this evening."

"How long?" Laura managed, gnashing her teeth together and holding her breath as another contraction began.

"That's hard to say," the nurse replied. "Some women will move from five centimeters to fully dilated within in a half hour, others it can take a half day or more." She glanced at Laura's chart. "Dr. Miller has authorized the epidural, if you'd like one."

"Yes, whatever she can have," Remington answered for her.

"No," Laura overrode. "No epidural." He looked at her as though she'd suddenly grown two heads.

"You're in pain, Laura," he insisted. She shook her head, adamantly.

"Too many risks," she dissented.

"With minimal odds of facing any of those risks," he argued, reminding her they'd both read the same books.

"Any odds are too high, Mr. Steele," she rebutted. "Increased chance of cesarean or forceps delivery; increased fetal heart-rate variability; respiratory depression in the baby," she ticked off on her fingers. "No epidural," she told the nurse firmly.

"I'll be back with your IV in a few minutes, then," the nurse agreed.

"No drugs of any kind," Laura announced, in the 'there's no debating this' tone he knew all too well.

"I'll note your chart," the nurse answered, then left the room.

"Lau-ra," he drew out her name as soon as the door to the room fully closed. Haunted brown eyes lifted to meet his, and in an instant he knew the reason behind the last. Those days of being held by Roselli, pumped full of drugs, left hallucinating whilst being terrorized by him. His heart clutched in his chest. At times, it was too easy to forget those days and that certain parts of them might always follow her, for she was so strong, appeared so… unaffected from day-to-day. "We'll find other ways, then," he promised, easing her up to a sitting position then straddling the bed behind her. "Starting with loosening up some of those knots, hmmmm?"

At eight o'clock, the door to her room swung open and Abigail rushed in, followed by a reluctant Frances.

"Laura, you look absolutely awful," Abigail declared, clasping her daughter's cheeks between her hands and studying her face.

"Thank you, Mother," Laura panted, her sarcasm still clear, smiling wanly at the roll of Frances's eyes behind their mother's back.

"It's good to see you, Remington," Abigail acknowledged her son-in-law then returned her attention to her daughter. "Just look at you. You're soaked in sweat and you're so pale I can see every one of your freckles. Couldn't you have at least taken a little time to use a bit of powder on your face, a little lipstick? I raised both of my girls with the understanding we should always put our best foot forward."

"I'm in labor, Mother, not running errands around town," Laura bit out, as Abigail's focus moved from her youngest daughter to the fetal monitor. Remington's arm snaked around her waist to find her hand, and she tangled their fingers, giving his hand a grateful squeeze.

"Well, I think you look much better than I did when I was having the children," Frances intervened. "I didn't even think to pull my hair back, as you have, and it was sticking up every-"

"What is this thing?" Abigail interrupted, indicating the monitor.

"It measures the strength and frequency of Laura's contractions, as well as keeps an eye on the baby's heart rate," Remington provided. "The peaks are contractions. The higher the peak, the stronger it is."

"So, is that one starting right now?" Abigail inquired, as the line on the monitor began to steadily climb.

"It is," he confirmed. "Easy does it, love. Try to breath," he whispered against Laura's ear, taking back his hand to search out tense muscles in her back, easing one at a time. She focused on the movement of his fingers as she fought the urge to hold her breath. "Tá tú go hálainn," he spoke quietly, so only she could hear. "Tá tú chomh láidir, mo ghrá amháin fíor."

"How far along are you?" Frances ventured to ask, once Laura relaxed and breathed deeply.

"Still at five centimeters, but ninety percent effaced," Remington answered in her stead.

"This baby may not come until tomorrow afternoon then," Abigail sighed, sounding put out. She watched as Laura gripped Remington's hands again, knuckles whitening. "If you ask me, your medication isn't working very well. I'll just go tell the nurse you need your dosage increased."

"There's no need," Laura informed her, between breaths. "I'm not taking anything. Too many potential risks."

"That may be one of them most ridiculous things I've ever heard you say," her mother chastised. "In my day, they used what they referred to as twilight sleep. Not only didn't I feel a thing when you and your sister were born, I don't remember the first thing about the labor. Oh, some would go on and on about how twilight sleep might make it difficult for the baby to breathe after they were born, but look at you and your sister. Both of you came out just fine."

"I guess we were lucky, weren't we?" Laura retorted.

"Lau-ra," Remington rumbled quietly. "Just let it be." Her temper flashed and she snapped her head around to glare at him over her shoulder.

"No!" she barked. "I'm not going to sit here and listen while Mother tries to convince me to play Russian roulette with the child you nearly died for. I'm—"

"That line's going up again," Abigail announced, interrupting her daughter's furious retort.

"You're not helping, Mother," Laura groused, as she prepared herself for the next round.

"Natural childbirth's all the rage right now, Mother," Frances offered, trying to restore the peace. "I think Laura's brave—"

"Nonsense," their mother dismissed, "There's nothing brave or noble about being a martyr when there's no need to do so."

"I don't think she's being a martyr, but is simply doing what she believes—"

"This must be a big one," Abigail spoke over her oldest. "Is it, Laura, dear?"

"Not helping," her daughter ground out between gnashed teeth. Remington felt her body tremoring beneath his hands.

Into the fray arrived the evening nurse. She waited until the contraction subsided then stepped to the monitor and reviewed the tape showing progression of labor the last hour.

"You're making good progress, Mrs. Steele. I imagine we'll see a baby sometime in the next couple of hours," the nurse smiled. Laura delivered a frown on the woman but said not a word. Feeling her tense beneath his hands, Remington shook his head, knowing she was stubbornly persisting in her belief she had any control, whatsoever on when the babe arrived. The nurse took her petulance in stride. "There's still time for that epidural—"

"She wants it," Abigail interrupted, jumping on the suggestion.

" _No! She…_ " Laura elongated the second word, "…doesn't." The nurse took in her patient's agitated state, and took in Abigail and Frances in a single glance.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask everyone but Mr. Steele to return to the waiting room, while I check Mrs. Steele," she directed.

"Of course," Abigail acquiesced. "Laura, darling, I'll be back shortly." She leaned down and pressed a kiss to her daughter's cheek. Frances stepped up to the bed and leaned down to give her sister a hug.

"I'm sorry," she whispered against Laura's ear. Laura nodded her understanding, the watched as the two women left the room.

"How are you feeling, Mrs. Steele?" the nurse asked.

"I'm hungry… and thirsty," she groused.

"Well, I can't do anything about the first, but after I've checked you, I'll have someone bring you a container of ice chips which will help with the second," the woman smiled. "Let's get this done before the next contraction. If you'll lay down…"

Remington scooted out from behind Laura and standing next to the bed, took her hand in his, wincing when she gasped sharply again and this time involuntarily tried to move away from the hand under the sheet. The nurse simply smiled and followed.

"Six, close to six and a half. I would speculate you'll be able to get a good night's rest this evening," the nurse pronounced, removing her gloves. "I'll be back shortly to change your IV bag and will have those ice chips delivered as soon as someone is available."

"I'll be back in just a minute," Remington told Laura, leaning down and touching his lips to hers. "I'm going to go collect those ice chips myself. I'll be back before the next pain arrives."

"Alright," she agreed, then watched as he left the room.

She pressed both hands over her eyes, and allowed herself a minute to fall apart. Her body tremored as she breathed heavily. Labor was far worse than she imagined it would be, and she wanted to scream at someone to pump her full of drugs, as many as they could. But she couldn't force the words past her lips, not only because of the baby although that was more than reason enough, but because she was, quite simply, terrified. Frightened, as had happened after her surgery, the nightmares would return. Even more so, petrified with the drugs coursing through her bloodstream she would find herself in that car with Roselli again being tormented, her heart torn to pieces as she wondered if Remington was left hideously scarred and hating her for it, or if he was simply gone.

No, she couldn't ask for drugs, but she also didn't know how much longer she'd be able to keep it together. Long ago, the labor pains had passed uncomfortable, then difficult. Now, each one felt like her torso was being simultaneously crushed in a vise while being torn to shreds.

As for Remington? He'd been a rock thus far, but she could feel his anxiety mounting with each passing hour. He wasn't a man who did helpless well and, in this, his hands were tied, for he could neither hasten along the baby's arrival nor lessen her pain beyond what he was already doing. She had to hold it together, if not for herself, then for him.

Remington walked to the nurses station and, spotting the nurse who'd just examined Laura, approached her. He eyed her name tag, then gave her a broad flash of his pearly whites.

"Evelyn, Remington Steele," he offered her his hand. She blinked, then offered hers in return, which he held clasped in his. She watched, captively, as his eyes crinkled at the edges and the bright blue eyes seemed to dance in the light.

"Mr. Steele," she greeted, then seemed tongue tied for a few long ticks of the clock. "Does Mrs. Steele need my assistance?" His smile widened.

"Actually, yes, in a manner of speaking. I was hoping I might impose upon your caring nature for a couple of… favors." He widened his smile at her. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, her mouth suddenly gone dry.

"Of course. However I can help," she agreed.

"I was wondering if you might inform our families, that under medical advice, Laura is restricted from any further visitors until after our child is born." He leaned closer to her, as though taking her into his confidence. "This is quite the momentous occasion for she and I, as you can imagine, and we'd selfishly like to have this time to ourselves, yet we are both loathe to injure our family members feelings by asking them to permit us our privacy. In truth, I fear she'll become so concerned about offending them, she'll be unable to concentrate on the task at hand."

"Given it's in the patient's best interest, I can do that for you." She stared as he lifted her hand, and bussed the back of her knuckles.

"If you wouldn't mind telling me where I might find those ice chips?" he requested, raising his brows at her and bestowing another smile upon her.

"A… Around the corner," she pointed, "Second room to the right. The containers are in the cabinet to the far left."

"Thank you. It's much appreciated," he nodded, then took his leave.

Remington returned to Laura's room as another contraction began. Easing her up, he took his place behind her again, where in his eyes, he belonged. For five years now, they'd kept one another safe, and he vowed nothing would happen to this woman he adored… not on his watch.

For over two hours, Laura did what she had those first years… turned inwards, controlling the situation the only way she knew how: with an iron fist of pure will. Throughout those hours, as he tried to keep his own mounting worries at bay, he spoke quietly, his fingers continued to search out and relieve tension wherever he found it and he fed her ice chips as she would take them. She had progressed during this time to eight centimeters and a hundred percent effaced, but she was struggling. It had just passed eleven o'clock, marking her tenth hour of labor – half of that time hard – when she finally capitulated, and in one of those very rare times for Laura Holt Steele, she turned to him for strength. In doing so, it was one of the greatest testaments of her trust she'd ever bestowed upon him.

"It hurts, Remington. It really hurts," she sobbed, and leaned fully back against him, turning her head to lay the side of her face against his chest. He enveloped her in his arms, and pressed several hard kisses to the top of her head.

"I know it does, m'fhíorghrá, I know." He bussed her on the top of her head again. She drew in a staccato breath, her body quaking from the toll hours of seemingly unending torment had taken on her.

"I don't know if I can do this much longer," she wept. He squeezed his eyes closed, rubbing his cheek against her dampened hair. He searched desperately for words which might bring her comfort, inspire new resolve.

"There is an Irish proverb which holds 'There is no strength without unity,'" he began, whilst dragging a gentle hand slowly up and down her arm. "You and I have overcome every conceivable obstacle placed in our path, any matter of adversity we've faced when we've stood together, for one another. I can't take this pain from you, 'though I wish with all that I am I could, but _I am here_ while held in disbelief by you. If I'd been foolish enough to think yesterday I could not possibly love you more that I already did, I was wrong, for watching you battle to bring the child we created into this world has made what I felt yesterday a mere shadow of what I feel for you today. If I believed I could not possibly admire you more than I already did yesterday, I was wrong, because I am held entranced once more at the strength you have always shown, but more so today than any other day before and find myself yet again amazed that providence or God has seen fit that you should be mine." He lifted her chin so she gazed up at him. "Lean on me, love, and I will do everything within my power to make this easier for you." Blinking her eyes, she nodded rapidly at him.

"I'm scared," she admitted on a shaky voice, resting frightened brown eyes upon him. He nodded slowly in answer, as he thumbed away her tears.

"And I'm bloody well terrified of losing the one person who has ever made my life, my heart whole," he confessed, then added, "Which once more goes to show who the stronger person amongst us is." He eyed the monitor, watching as another contraction built. "Let' try this a little differently, eh?"

"What do you mean?" she wondered.

"Stay here with me through this one. Try your best to concentrate only on my touch, my voice, hmmm?" She looked at him uncertainly, but was willing to try anything at this point.

"Alright," she agreed.

"Have I ever told you of the first time I saw you?" he asked, as he began tracing his fingers lightly over her tightening stomach. The question drew a frown and she leaned her head back to look at him.

"I was there, remember?" she asked, tensing as the pressure built again.

"Concentrate," he reminded her gently, dropping a kiss on her forehead. With a puff of frustration, she turned back around, focusing on the feeling of his fingers creating featherlight trails over her tummy. "I first saw you when I was posing as a photographer. I'd paid a woman fifty dollars to stand with her children in front of the hotel so that I might get a lay of the land, so to speak. And there you were, speaking with Gordon Hunter in front of the armored car you'd hired for a test run, wearing one of those prim little suits you're inclined towards, although not as well fit as those you wear now." He brushed his lips over her bared collarbone, and waited as her hand automatically reached up to caress his arm, as he'd hoped it would. "You wore a fedora, cocked a bit to the side as you do, highlighting a pair of bright, intelligent eyes which made it clear from the start who was in charge of the operation. You… dazzled me… with your poise, your confidence. I'd never met a woman like you. And when I did? The moment you spoke, your eyes held mine, I knew my life had changed in some manner, quite unexpected, although unsure precisely how that was." As the contraction eased, her mind wandered back to a day as they'd strolled along the shoreline, trying to put back together what they'd nearly destroyed in an argument unlike they'd ever had before.

* * *

 _ **"Before, I didn't know where I'd be next day… or with whom. Didn't really matter, though. I always liked it like that. But then it all changed the day I met you."**_

 _ **"Changed for the better?"**_

 _ **"Oh, I don't know. Sometimes I've wondered about that. But… here we are."**_

* * *

"Changed for the better?" she panted. He chuckled as his eyes flicked to the fetal monitor and saw the end of her contraction had arrived.

"Ah, it is the stuff dreams are made of," he answered, nuzzling her cheek with his shadowed jaw. A test she knew, and managed a small laugh.

" _The Maltese Falcon,_ Humphrey Bogart, Mary Astor, Warner Bros., 1949," she recited. He nodded his head against hers.

"I believe that's my line, Mrs. Steele," he teased, reaching for her hand and bringing it to his lips. "Any better?"

"Just keep talking. The sound of your voice makes it… easier," she answered, doing some nuzzling of her own. He drew a deep breath and allowed himself to bask in the warmth of her admission. He felt for certain he'd never tire of the times she purposefully, or inadvertently, cited his importance in her life.

So, he did, reminding her of the some most poignant memories of their past as well as sharing some things he'd never spoken of before: "Have you any idea how… unsettling… I was to learn from Doc Gridley that you'd shared a hot tub with him wearing nothing but the most miniscule of red bikinis? In a matter of minutes, he'd been the recipient of two of my most ardent fantasies, after I'd waited…" and "I've never told you this, but that day in Cannes as you walked the beach trying to decide how to address my…" he swallowed hard, "…my failure to trust you, my deceit…I sat in the window of my room, watching you, knowing the hurt I'd caused you, but praying, none the less, that you wouldn't end us…".

It had just passed eleven thirty when activity erupted. After checking Laura again, Evelyn paged Dr. Miller, and the next thing the Steele's knew, he was asked to remove himself from the bed, despite her protests, and the bars on the bed were pulled up and latched. Remington ran alongside the stretcher as Laura was transported to the delivery room. He'd known a moment of panic when he was blocked from entering the room, until learning it was only so he might wash his hands and don a surgical gown. In short order, he sat behind her again, supporting her as she pushed and clutched at his hands. They both stilled when, with a final push, the baby slipped from her body.

Dr. Miller held the wailing infant aloft in his hands, a smile lighting his face.

"It's a…."


	6. Chapter 5: It's A---

Chapter 5: It's A…

"It's a girl," Miller announced to the new parents, as he passed the newborn to a nurse waiting with a towel in arm. To Laura's utter mortification, tears began seeping from her eyes, a half dozen people there to witness what she'd always viewed as a weakness. "Would you like to cut the cord, Mr. Steele?" Miller asked. Remington never heard him, as he sat fully dazed, his wife's petite body shaking in his arms, while he stared at their baby girl. "Mr. Steele?" Miller tried again.

"Remington!" Laura called, but he only responded when she delivered a swift elbow into his ribs, and then he could only manage a most ineloquent…

"Huh?"

"Would you like to cut the cord?" Miller tried again.

"Uh, yes… yes," he answered more firmly the second time, then in what he would only recall as a blur of memory in the years to come, took the scissors they placed his hand, squeezing them shut once a second nurse had positioned them around the cord. His eyes followed the baby as she was swept away. "Wait!" he burst out. "Where is she taking our child?" From in front of him, Laura laughed through her tears.

"It's alright," she soothed, amusement dancing through her voice despite her fatigue.

"The hell it is!" he countered, more loudly. "I don't recall giving anyone permission to abscond with our child, Laura!"

"She's still in the room, Mr. Steele," a bemused Dr. Miller assured him, using his head to indicate the exam table. "They're just weighing and measuring her, checking her Apgar. Once she'd cleaned up, they'll bring her to you." Remington let out a long breath, and scrubbed at his face with a hand, as he nodded his head that he understood. "Now, Laura, two more pushes should do it."

"I'm done," she insisted, then muttered an oath when another contraction struck. A few scant minutes later, the placenta had been delivered, and the room began bustling again as parents and child were banded. Then at long last, as the room was being cleaned up, Remington and Laura were handed the baby they'd waited for and had fantasized about for nine long months.

"You may have gotten your girl, sweetheart," Laura said quietly, as she held the baby while examining her with fascination, from the top of her head to the bottom of her toes, "But she looks just like you," she observed, with a watery smile.

And, indeed she did, if things didn't change as she grew up. The baby's head was covered in an impossibly thick mass of downy, raven colored hair. Her fingers were long, like her father's, and with her long limbs, she'd measured at twenty-two-and-a-half inches in length. But, it was clearly affirmed who she took after when she woke and a pair of shockingly blue eyes gazed up at her parents. Remington, hip perched on the bed, gently stroked the baby's head, as he tried to process that she was here, and this moment was very, very real.

"Does she have a name, yet?" Evelyn asked from where she was perched on a stool at a counter, filling out paperwork.

"Olivia," Remington provided, gruffly, "Olivia Elena Steele." They dutifully recited their names when asked, barely paying attention to the questions, if they were to be honest, both were too wrapped up in their daughter to care much about what was going on in the room around them.

"Born November first at twelve-oh-three a.m.," Evelyn noted aloud.

"I told you she wouldn't be born on Halloween day," Laura reminded him. He bussed her hard on the top of the head.

"Apparently, Laura Holt Steele can even control Mother Nature, hmmmm?" he asked, laughter tracing through his words. He reached out and fingered the baby's hand. "I can't quite believe she's here, love."

"Neither can I." She tilted her head back to look at him. "I didn't think it was possible to love someone this much, so fast." His face lit with tenderness, he caressed her cheek with the back of two fingers.

"I did." With two fingers under her chin, he tipped up her chin, and leaned down to touch his lips to hers. Both looked towards the door to the room when it swung open and two nurses entered the room.

"Mrs. Steele," one greeted, "We need to get you cleaned up then moved to your room. Georgie," she indicated the second nurse, "Will take the baby to the nursery until you're settled." Laura swung her head back to look at Remington again, holding the baby a bit closer.

"That won't be necessary," he refused for them both, "Our daughter will stay with me. What room will my wife be moving to?"

"Six-thirty-one on the maternity wing," Georgie supplied. "But the hospital prefers for the baby to go to—"

"Neither my wife nor I are particularly concerned what the 'hospital prefers,'" he interrupted, softening his words with a smile, as he carefully lifted the baby out of Laura's arms and cradled her in his. "I'm going to introduce our daughter to her grandparents and aunt, then she and I will await her mother in the room."

"But-"

"It's okay, Georgie," Evelyn cut in, standing up and gathering her paperwork. "I'll accompany Mr. Steele and the baby to the waiting room, and then I'll show him to Mrs. Steele's room." The couple gave her a grateful look, before Remington leaned down and kissed Laura.

"I won't let her out of my sight," he vowed, next to her ear. "We'll be in your room when you arrive." She closed her eyes and nodded.

"Take care of her." She hadn't been able to stop the words from crossing her lips.

"Knowing I'll face your wrath if I don't?" he asked with a smile, and kissed her again. "You can be assured of it. We'll see you shortly."

With that, he followed Evelyn out the door, while her eyes followed her husband and child, wishing she was leaving with them.

* * *

Five people came to their feet as Remington entered the waiting room. He'd put considerable thought into how he'd introduce the newest member of the Steele family. Two grandparents, a step-grandmother, an aunt and an honorary 'auntie' would all be awaiting news. Should he introduce their daughter to the group as a whole? Individually? Just walk from person-to-person allowing them to look not touch? He certainly could have used Laura's ever present logic, but she was otherwise occupied. In the end, his decision may have been selfish, or perhaps not, but there was one person in that room for whom Olivia would be the first child of their only child.

"Father," Remington addressed Thomas as he approached him directly, "Laura and I would like you to meet your granddaughter." As he eased his child into his father's waiting arms, excited murmurs went up from the other four people there waiting: Abigail, Frances, Catharine and Mildred.

"A granddaughter," Thomas repeated, sounding dazed. "She's beautiful, son," he complimented before he was too choked up to continue. Long ago he'd believed he'd forever lost the opportunity to be a father, let alone grandfather. To be holding his son's child was almost too much joy to bear.

"Remington, she looks just like you," Frances said excitedly, while Abigail stepped to Thomas's side to greet her granddaughter as well.

"What name have you and Laura decided on, Remington?" Abigail inquired, her eyes remaining glued to the infant as she fondled her tiny hand.

"Olivia," he announced to one and all. "Olivia Elena, to be more precise." Abigail nodded her head, a smile playing on her lips.

"Laura's grandmother would have been honored," his mother-in-law commended. Although Olivia Holt was the mother of the man who had abandoned her, Abigail had always held the utmost respect for the woman, and had been grateful by how the woman had stepped forward to be even more of a presence in her grandchildren's lives in the years that followed.

"How's Mrs. Steele, Boss?" Mildred asked.

"She's doing well. She'll be moved to her room here shortly, so Olivia and I can't stay but a minute lest we wish her Mommy to come hunting down she and her Da." He watched as his father pressed a kiss to the baby's forehead, then carefully passed her to Abigail's waiting arms.

"When can we see Laura?" Frances wanted to know. Remington hadn't the slightest idea and turned towards where Evelyn stood unobtrusively by the door.

"Visiting hours begin at eight tomorrow morning," she informed the group. "Mr. Steele…" Evelyn looked pointedly towards the clock.

"Yes, yes, of course," he replied, fetching Olivia from a reluctant Abigail, then presenting her to Catharine, Frances and Mildred to bestow kisses and greetings.

"Please, pass our congratulations on to Laura, son," Thomas requested, clasping his son's shoulder, "And we'll see you in the morning."

"Frances and my own, as well," Abigail added.

With a final round of goodbyes, Remington followed as Evelyn guided him to the private room they'd reserved and prepaid for Laura. While the cost had been substantially more, the amenities had been priceless: Both father and child could stay with mom until discharge. There had been no debate, as far as Laura and Remington were concerned, that this was the room in which they'd stay. And it was where Laura found husband and daughter when she arrived.

"Your timing is impeccable, as always, Mrs. Steele," he announced, rising from the rocking chair where he'd been soothing their increasingly fussy daughter. "I believe our wee one is looking for something her Da cannot possibly provide," he speculated. Laura laughed, then held out her arms.

"She is, is she?" As if to confirm her father's suspicions, the baby turned her head and immediately began to root.

Laura reached for the shoulder of her gown to pull it down, then paused. She and Remington had discussed breast feeding at length during her pregnancy, he supportive of breast feeding, but hoping they might supplement feedings so he, too, could share in the bonding with their child, while she was uncertain for the longest of times given the complexities involved when she returned to work. Then, there was the more selfish, more delicate reason, as she'd worried her husband would cease seeing her breasts as part of her womanhood, and would forever forward associate them with the feeding of their child, as Frances swore was the case of some of her friends' husbands. It had taken days of building up her courage, after _that_ conversation, to confront her concerns head on. He'd stared at her, dumbfounded at first, then had laughed so hard he'd had tears in his eyes when he gathered her in his arms, and hugged her.

"Laura, can you even _think_ of a time when I've found a single millimeter of that delightful body of yours less than absolutely delectable?" he'd asked, kissing her silly, then after the kiss had gathered her back in his arms. "You're forgetting, love, I'm of a European mindset, where it is fairly commonplace for a man to…" he pursed his lips, considering the right turn of phrase "…sample the flavor of their wife's breasts."

Well, she'd flushed and squirmed in his arms at _that_ thought, but perhaps because of it, she didn't think twice about tugging the shoulder of her gown down, exposing one of the globes and guiding their child to it while Remington watched in rapt fascination. He was, for his part, held positively spellbound watching the woman he loved above all else using her body to provide his child sustenance. So much so, that he stretched out on the bed next to her, propping his head up with one hand so he might savor the moment, while stroking their little one's bottom and nuzzling his wife's face.

Finally, with the baby fed, nappy changed and her sleeping next to the bed in the glass bassinet provided by the hospital, Remington and Laura spooned together on the bed watching over her. Laura yawned deeply as his hand rhythmically stroked her arm.

"How do you feel, love?" he wondered.

"Sore. Tired." On cue, she shifted slightly again, trying to get comfortable.

"You're a remarkable woman, Laura," he praised, quietly. "I've watched many a man be taken to his knees by only a tenth of what you endured this evening, yet you… you just continued to press on."

"I couldn't have done it without you," she confessed, capturing his hand and threading their fingers together.

"I can't quite believe that's our daughter lying over there. _Our child,_ " he marveled.

"Well, there's no mistaking she belongs to _you,_ " she laughed softly.

"So long as she's her mother's spirit, I'm content with half the dream." The comment drew another laugh.

"Be careful what you wish for, Mr. Steele," she warned. "If you ask Mother, I was a handful from the second I was born."

"Spirited, Mrs. Steele, spirited," he corrected, leaning up to press a kiss to her cheek. "Get some sleep, love. If those books are correct, the babe will be needing her Mommy again, all too soon." She nodded her head, and dozed off thinking it was impossible for life to get any better than it already was.


	7. Chapter 6: Inconsolable

Chapter 6: Inconsolable

 _November 23, 1987_

Life was hell. There was absolutely no other description for it, Laura decided, glancing at the clock every two minutes or so, as she paced the floor frantically with a screaming Olivia in her arms.

 _Everything was perfect. What happened?_ she lamented.

Life in the Steele household had quickly settled into a 'new normal' that had required little planning on the part of Remington and Laura to make happen. Olivia had seen to it herself. From that first night in the hospital, the baby woke only once a night for a feeding Remington had declared as his own upon their arrival home. A natural night owl, he thought nothing of rolling out of bed in the still of the night to answer the muted cries of their daughter coming through the baby monitor sitting on his night table. The first few nights Laura had joined them, smiling as she'd watched his large hands change that itty bitty diaper. He'd proven adept at the task, as it seemed he was at most anything he undertook, but not always without complaint, which was also par for the course.

"Laura, how something so hideous can come out of the bottom of such a tiny being positively defies the all rationale!" he'd declare, holding a dirty diaper up by the tips of two fingers while wrinkling his nose.

By far and away, however, she most enjoyed watching father and daughter after Olivia had finished a meal as those same, large hands, held his child to his shoulder and patted her back. The man used the same extraordinary gentleness with their baby as he'd used with that baby's mother for years. As for that baby? The way she'd rub her face against her father's neck, or would sigh deeply and relax against his shoulder made it perfectly clear that she felt secure and loved in her father's hands.

And as for Laura? Those niggling fears that had followed her? Gone. Remington had watched with a great deal of pride as she'd taken easily and naturally to motherhood. As they'd agreed, she'd breastfed the first two weeks to guarantee Olivia would receive the nutrients and antibodies vital to her. It was with no little regret that she'd weaned the baby after that, but she'd wanted to be certain her milk was dry before returning to work. However, even when she'd ceased breastfeeding, her routine with Olivia remained the same, and many a night Remington had stood with shoulder propped against the nursery's door frame watching as she rocked and sung the baby to sleep.

There was no doubt about it: Laura doted on their daughter. Not smothered, not spoiled, but doted. Although… nearly everyone had quickly discovered if something was proposed as 'for Olivia,' she'd be inclined to do things that in the past would have had her firmly planting her feet. She'd attended the 'welcome baby' party with nary a complaint and the following day when he'd suggested they go shopping in order to purchase the remainder of whatever it was Olivia might need, she'd merely shrugged her shoulders, packed the diaper bag, and secured the baby in her carrier.

As for their weekend routines? They'd, of course, had to change, as sleeping in had gone the way of platform shoes and parachute pants. But now, Olivia napped upstairs while Remington and Laura dozed on the hammock outside or watched a movie together, baby monitor nearby. And it was not at all uncommon to find the baby resting in her bouncy seat on the kitchen counter as Remington spoke to her while preparing the evening meal and breakfast on the weekends.

Remington had returned to work three days after Olivia was born, working an abbreviated schedule those first couple of days, then returning to the fray full time on the occasion of his daughter's first week birthday. On his orders, Bernice had blacked out his schedule from eleven-thirty to one-thirty each day for the following five weeks so that he could return home to prepare lunch and enjoy it with his wife, then give his daughter her noon bottle before putting her down for nap. Yet, the truth of it was, when Remington had gladly taken on the bulk of responsibility for the Agency upon his shoulders as Laura recovered from surgery and then in her final weeks of pregnancy, this time – while do it he would – he found himself resenting the demands this time, for he wanted to be at home enjoying his family. He was fairly itching for Laura's return to work, three weeks hence, because at least then the baby would be ensconced in the nursery there, his wife in the office next door… when they weren't investigating a case that was. At least this week, with Thanksgiving's arrival, he'd have four days at home with the women in his life. Still, it had been hollow consolation when he'd left the house that morning.

Nor was it a comfort to Laura who'd been attempting to calm a hysterical baby the last four hours. She'd tried everything from the bag of limited tricks she'd collected with so little exposure to infants previously. Her diaper was clean. She'd been fed, only quieting while the bottle was in her mouth. She'd turned almost purple in anger at an attempt to give her a tepid bath. She didn't have a fever. She only squawked louder when sung to and she wanted nothing, whatsoever, to do with being lulled in the rocking chair. Her fists had pumped in fury when Laura had played the piano. _Hell, I even tried the washing machine trick Frances swore by when Mindy was a baby._

"It's almost ten, where are you?" she muttered, bouncing Olivia against her shoulder. She'd tried his car phone and pager a dozen times over the last four hours, both going unanswered. She'd been tempted to dial in 911-5, their code for emergency at home, but she hadn't wanted to panic him. So instead, she continued to pace and bounce, sway and swing, pat and croon, as Olivia only seemed to grow louder.

By the time the front door swung open an hour and fifteen minutes, Laura was beyond frazzled, and any chance of rationality had gone the way of parachutes and spangled gloves: with the win. A vividly weary Remington trudged inside, brows raising at the sound of their happy, secure daughter squalling as though the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels. It had been a long, difficult night when a routine surveillance which should have wrapped up by no later than eight had turned into first a foot race then a scavenger hunt. He'd returned home sans socks, shoes and suit jacket, all of which had been tossed into the rubbish before he'd driven home. That his wardrobe had become a casualty to the case was irritable, as it always was, but tonight it was particularly vexing since one of his favorite suits and a nearly new pair of fine Italian dress shoes had been sacrificed.

And from the sounds emanating from the living room, the night didn't hold a promise of improving. He dragged his hands through his hair, then peeked into the room, not wishing to dredge the remaining muck throughout the entire house.

"Good Heavens, Laura," he called to her, "What's gotten into Olivia?" Laura whirled around to face him.

"Where have you been?" she bit out. He raised a brow at her tone.

"Surveillance on the Holcomb case, as we discussed this morning," he reminded her. "Is she sick?"

"You couldn't answer your phone? Your pager?" she demanded to know, her voice going up an octave, Olivia's screams rising in pitch in unison.

"I wasn't near the phone," he answered, trying for patience as he patted at his pockets. "I must've left my pager at the office."

"A lot of good it does you there," she retorted, bouncing with the baby again. "Wasn't it your edict that everyone has a pager… _at all times_?"

"I didn't leave it behind intentionally, Laura," he told her, growing exasperated. "Now, what's wrong with the baby?"

"If I knew, do you think she'd still be screaming?" Stomping over to him, she held the baby in his direction. "See if you can figure it out. I've tried _everything_ and _nothing_ has worked."

"After I've showered, I—" Her lips thinned.

"I have been at this for _hours,_ while you've been out running around doing God knows what!"

"God knows…" He let the response taper off as his own temper flared. He flicked a hand at her in disgust, and turned towards the stairs. "I'll be back after—"

"Take the baby, Mr. Steele!" she shouted at his back. He froze before his foot landed on the next step. Bringing it down on the step it had just left, he turned to look at her, his countenance thunderous.

"I have just spent the last several hours digging through dumpsters to retrieve the evidence our own client tossed away," he clipped out, voice like ice. "I won't expose our very _young_ , very _susceptible_ child, to whatever it is that might be on my clothes, not to mention my person. I'll return shortly, _after_ I've showered." Without another word, he strode up the stairs, taking them two at a time, not looking back.

He returned in short order, wearing pajama pants, wrapped in a robe and carrying a trash bag. Opening the front door, he sat the bag on the stoop to throw away in the morning, then walked into the living room where Laura continued to pace and bounce while Olivia screamed. In stony silence, he lifted the baby from her arms, cradling his daughter in one arm and placing a firm hand on her stomach.

"Cén fáth go bhfuil tú as cineál, mo aingeal beag?" he soothed, tucking her against his chest, while he walked to the kitchen. "It's been a long day and a wee one such as yourself needs her rest. Hmmmm?"

"I'm going to bed," Laura called to his back. When he didn't answer her, simply clicked his tongue at their child while swaying with her, she added, crossly, "Don't feel the need to join me." His jaw clenched and the muscle in it twitched, unseen by her.

"Ohhhh," he drew out the word, then shaking his head, laughed acerbically, "I don't, and won't."

He didn't bother to turn around when she stalked from the room. Removing a bottle from the refrigerator, he pressed Olivia a little closer to him as he opened it and set it in the microwave. "Sh-sh-sh-sh-shhhh, your Da's here. We'll have a bit of dinner together, then take ourselves a kip, hmmmm?" The baby clutched at the mat of hair on his chest, drawing a half-laugh, half-painful intake of air from him, but her cries lessened somewhat. Carefully extracting her hand, he pressed a kiss to it. "Da will need to be keeping that, if you don't mind," he told her quietly. The microwave beeped, and he carefully secured the nipple and shook the bottle then retired with little squirming mass of unhappiness to the couch in his "screening" room.

"It can't be quite as bad as all that, can it now, a leanbh?" he crooned, as he encouraged her to take her bottle. "You've a home, a warm place to sleep each night, food to eat, and two parents who adore you. All-in-all, a much finer beginning than some ever know."

With a shuddering sigh and a quake of her overtaxed body, the baby settled in to nurse, her open eyes fastened on her father's face. Remington spoke quietly to her as she suckled, doing little more than sharing the happenings of his day, although he did so in a tone which one might use to tell a fairy tale. Soon, her eye lids grew heavy, her fisted hand limp. He debated, briefly, whether to forgo burping her, then decided the idea unwise. So, lifting her to his shoulder he patted and rubbed until he gained the results he sought.

Once she was safely, and silently, ensconced in her crib, Remington grabbed pillow and blanket from the linen closet and retired to the couch downstairs, after retrieving the monitor from his bedside table. Giving his pillow a couple solid thumps with his fist, he stretched out on his back, and stared up at the ceiling.

It had been a hell of a day, from the time he'd left the house until well after he'd returned. The case for which the Agency had been hired, to locate jewelry pilfered during a home robbery, had instead revealed an affair, a staged robbery, and tonight had culminated in murder. By the time he'd put all the pieces together, a much slower process without the presence of Laura's adept mind, and had set about catching his client's duplicitous wife in the act, their client had already put two and two together as well. Thus, instead of catching a conniving cheat in the act as he and young Burton had planned, they'd been the unwitting witnesses to a murder and attempted murder, then had had to give chase when the woman's lover fled for his life, their client hot on his tail. After which, of course, there had been the search for the murder weapon, along the pathway of the chase and the rubbish they'd had to sift and climb through.

It had brought back many a bad memory, that had. Of those days when was a child on the streets, brought to desperation by a hunger so deep it seemed to gnaw away at his very soul.

All the way home he'd daydreamed about arriving home to a sleeping Laura, whom, after he was properly cleaned, he'd tuck himself around in their bed. To absorb her warmth. To be surrounded by her smell, a smell so pure and clean, it would banish memories both recent and old.

Instead, he'd arrived home to a banshee of a wife and a little replica of that temper in his tiny daughter. The latter, of course, could not be held accountable for her upset, as she was doing no more than letting them know there was something wrong in her world, in the only way she knew how. But the former?

He flopped onto his side and glared into the darkened room. _Well, bugger that_. He'd wouldn't be—

His thoughts were interrupted by Olivia's cries being transmitted through the monitor. Hauling himself up from the couch he returned to her room. Unwilling to have another confrontation with Laura, he retired once again to the room downstairs, keeping her gathered close and crooning to her until she quieted again. This time, he hadn't even managed to lie her back down in her crib before she began screeching. A hand streaked through his hair before he picked her up and took another trip down the stairs. He walked the lower level of the house with her until her wails subsided into infrequent mews, then with exhaustion setting in, he stretched out on the couch, lying Olivia on his chest and placing a firm splayed hand across her back. To his utter surprise, with a shuddering final cry, her small hand grasped a fistful of the hair beneath it and she fell asleep. He briefly… very briefly… considered returning her to her crib, but she slept so soundly it didn't seem worth the risk of another round of pounding the floorboards. Pulling the blanket from the back of the couch down overtop of them, they slept.

(TBC)


	8. Chapter 7: Losing Herself

Chapter 7: Losing Herself

Laura woke shortly after sunrise, automatically rolling over, her hand searching for Remington. A year and a half sharing a bed full-time and she could count on one hand the number of times they hadn't maintained physical contact of some kind as they slept. Her eyes popped open when her hand found only cool sheets beneath. With a groan, she rolled to her back, and held a hand over her eyes as she recalled the evening prior.

She'd been left feeling stressed, helpless… incompetent… the longer Olivia had screamed. It was the first big 'crisis' of the baby's short life and she'd failed to identify what was wrong, let alone how to fix it. By the time Remington had arrived home, she'd been operating on automatic for hours, pacing and bouncing, singing and cooing. But it hadn't stopped those old fears that she'd be no good at this, at being a mother, from resurfacing with a vengeance, and eventually, as the night wore on, she felt those old, familiar feelings of panic tightening her chest as though a vise was around it. When she'd heard the front door swing open, she'd only known relief.

Until he hadn't come straight in to see what was wrong. Had only stuck his head into the room and asked, she gave a short snort of laughter now, what was wrong with the baby. As if she knew! In an instant resentment flashed through her, accompanied by a healthy dose of anger. She scrunched her face. On the morning after, she could admit her reaction had been… over the top. _Fine,_ she told her own conscience, _unreasonable._ But, for hours she'd been home with an inconsolable infant while he'd been out doing her job. _Her job!_ She sat up and ran her hands through her hair in frustration.

She despised herself for it, but four weeks away from the Agency and she already felt she was losing a part of herself. She was no longer Laura Holt Steele, business owner, private detective, triathlon competitor, but had been solely relegated to the role of wife and mother. She loved Remington, loved being married to him beyond measure and there were simply no words to describe how much she loved their daughter, being her mother. But, selfishly, a large part of her identity was in those two other things: the business she owned and job she performed. She loved her home life but she loved her professional life as well, and it felt as though she was becoming further and further removed from the that part of her life. She missed it. She _needed_ it. And was starting to fear it didn't need her.

Her eyes fell on his side of the bed, the empty side and she grimaced as she recalled she'd all but banned him from it. The way he'd laughed, the tone with which he'd answered. He'd been furious, and, even worse, hurt. He needed that physical connection to feel secure in her, them, their marriage… as much as she needed the office and her profession to know who she was. Standing, she shrugged into her robe. Maybe, after she'd fed the baby, she and Remington would have time enough to have a cup of tea, alone… to make amends.

She knew a moment of panic when she walked into the nursery and found Olivia missing from her crib. It hadn't taken her long to put two and two together, and after checking the guest room, went downstairs where she found them the pair sleeping on the couch, his hand holding the baby securely against his chest. She leaned a shoulder against the doorway, watching for long minutes, smiling at the picture they made. There was no doubt their daughter felt secure and loved by her father. And that father? The way his face lit up when he looked at Olivia, the look in his eyes when he held her, his patience… his reverence. Drawing in a long breath and letting it out slowly, she crossed the room. The instant her hand touched his, his eyes flew open, on the alert.

"It's six-thirty," she told him quietly. "I'm just going to take her upstairs to feed her." He closed his eyes and let out the breath he'd drawn in when he'd woken, while nodding his head. Picking the baby up and cradling her, she stood there, working up the backbone to make that offer of tea.

"Remington," she finally spoke, "I was thinking—" The words stalled, as he turned to face the back of the couch making it clear he'd no desire to speak with her. She hesitated for a second then turned and walked away.

He waited until he was certain she'd be busy with Olivia, then slipped upstairs to shower and dress for the day. He'd no interest in further accusations, arguments, and frankly, he'd no intention of offering an apology for his imagined transgressions. He returned downstairs to discover Laura drinking a cup of tea while cradling the baby in her free arm. He leaned down and pressed a kissed to his daughter's head.

"I'll be home to feed you lunch, _a thaisce," he murmured, then standing up, regretfully turned and departed. Laura watched his retreating back, then lifted her face and blinked her eyes. When she heard the front door close, she gave her head a sharp nod and focused her attention on the child in her arms._

 _ABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABC_

 _Remington had, indeed, come home to feed Olivia lunch. Laura had made another overture towards an apology, warming up for lunch one of the meals he stored in the freezer for them. She might not be able to make an edible piece of toast, but she could microwave with the best of them. Her efforts, however, had been greeted with a short 'I've already eaten,' and after warming a bottle, he had retired to the nursery with the baby. The second snub had been one too many. Shoving aside the dish of penne pasta, she stomped upstairs, tossed on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, tied on her tennis shoes and went for a run. And returned home to a fuming husband, pacing the floors, who banged out of the house after informing her he'd be working late._

 _Remington fumed all the way back to the Agency. He'd intended to go home, feed Olivia, then inspect the Holcomb job before returning to the office where Bernice had scheduled him in back-to-back meetings until four-thirty. He'd already been pressed into a five-thirty meeting with Detective Reeves regarding their client-turned-murderer, which meant he wouldn't be able to clear the Holcomb job until six-thirty at the earliest. Another late night, yet more time sacrificed that he could be spending with his newborn child._

 _It was approaching eight by the time he'd finally pulled into their drive, his mood having gone further downhill. A shower, time with his daughter and a good night's sleep were all he wanted, but were not to be. For when he opened the door to the house, a scene much like the evening before greeted him: Olivia bellowing and Laura at her wits end. Stripping off his jacket and tie, he tossed them on a chair, then loosened a couple of buttons on his shirt. Relieving Laura of the squirming, angry infant, he walked, bounced and used words to soothe._

 _"Dr. Gabriel thinks it might be colic," Laura offered, sitting down on the couch and burying her face in her hands. "I made an appointment for tomorrow morning." He nodded in answer._

 _"My day was already clear as we're closing at noon for the holiday," he answered. "I'll take the day."_

 _"Alright," she agreed._

 _Concern for their child provided a common ground, and while the issue between her parents were by no means resolved, a certain… peace… was restored to the house. Like the night preceding it, Olivia slept very briefly, before the next round began, but it was at least long enough for Remington to shower, then, with baby in arm, he prepared dinner for him and Laura. Still, the rift between them remained, and once more he slept on the couch, Oliva lying across his chest as any attempts to lay her in her crib ended in crying._

 _The_ _pediatrician_ _appointment the following morning proved most… unhelpful. Colic, the doctor had declared, but there were no treatments other than 'patience' offered, no medications to cure it. As if to exacerbate their frustration, Gabriel couldn't even provide an absolute cause of the colic, but only mere speculations: spasming in the gastro-intestinal tract, immature nervous system, overstimulation, hormones, or that she was just simply a fussy baby. Pick one, any one. Neither Remington nor Laura were particularly enamoured with the idea of guessing which of the offered reasons might be applied to their child, although they both agreed the last could not possibly apply. So, they'd packed the baby up and had taken her home with no answers in hand._

 _That afternoon, with Thomas due to arrive at five o'clock to help Remington begin Thanksgiving dinner preparations – this year increased by one as Abigail would not be present but Thomas and Catherine would – Remington reached out, much as Laura had the day prior._

 _"Laura, we need to talk," he suggested quietly, as they stood at the side of the crib, looking down at the baby who'd just fallen asleep. Crossing her arms in front of her, she rubbed her arms with her hands and looked away. She was tempted to refuse, to turn away from him… walk away, as he'd done to her. She glanced at their daughter again and shook her head._

 _"Alright," she agreed resignedly. He pressed a hand to the small of her back and guided her to the master bedroom, closing the door behind them, lest things should become… exuberant. She assumed the same posture she'd taken in the nursery: arms crossed, a certain sign that she was feeling vulnerable. He dragged his hands through his hair then shoved them into his pockets._

 _"Would you mind telling me what got into you the other evening?" he asked, then watched as her chin tipped upwards and she thinned her lips. Her temper had been pricked, but he didn't give a damn as his own had been stewing for days. "I see. We're going to play it that way, are we? Fine," he told her, with no little bitterness in his voice. "What is it, exactly, that I'd done so wrong? Saw the case through to its end, to the point I sacrificed what little time I manage to steal with you and Olivia each day?" She tightened her arms around herself and averted her eyes._

 _"I couldn't reach you," she answered tightly._

 _"And if I'd had my pager, had come home? What would you have done when you discovered Burton and I were surveilling our client's home when he murdered his wife, attempted to murder her lover? That in walking away, I'd permitted him to permanently dispose of the murder weapon?" he challenged. "We both know I'd never have heard the end of it! So, tell me, how_ _exactly_ _do I win?" She dropped her arms then pressed a palm to her forehead._

 _"Remington—"_

 _"You tossed me out of_ _our bed,_ _Laura," he spoke over her. Her temper flashed again, and she planted her hands on her hips._

 _"And_ _you_ _shut me out!" she flung back. "I came to you, tried to make amends… and you_ _shut me out!_ _Then again, after. You said goodbye to Olivia while patently ignoring me as I stood there holding her. How many times can I tell you what it_ _does_ _to me_ _when you close yourself off from me before you get it?" He yanked a hand through his hair, before pointing a finger in her direction._

 _"No. No!" his voice rose insistently. "You don't get the freeze me out then claim injury when I respond in kind." Her fingers returned to her brow at his words. "For Christ's sake, Laura, you implied I was off running about rather than coming home. Need I remind you this," he flung his arm out, "Our home,_ _our family_ _, is what_ _I'd_ _hoped most fervently for? I'm barely here as it is during the week, have been counting the days until you return to work so I might have more time with you and our child. Why in the bloody hell would I give up what little time I have unless there was no other choice?!" She crossed the room and sat down heavily on the side of the bed, while holding up both hands then dropping them. She shook her head then turned her face away from him._

 _"She wouldn't stop crying. I tried everything I knew,_ _everything I could think of_ _, and she was… miserable," she admitted, so quietly he had to take several steps forward to hear her. "I felt…" she gesticulated with her hand "… helpless… inadequate." He rubbed a hand against his mouth, then sat down beside her and took her hand._

 _"You are_ _not_ _inadequate," he refuted. "Helpless, perhaps. I think we both are. Neither of us can fix whatever this… colic… is for her. How much more helpless can we be than that? It is our_ _job_ _as her parents to keep her from suffering, especially needlessly. And we can't. We can only see her through, as best we can." She stood and took several steps away from the bed, rubbing at her arms again._

 _"Yes, that's a part of it. A_ _big_ _part of it," she agreed. "But there's more to it than that." He reclined back on the bed, supporting his weigh on his elbows._

 _"Such as?" he prompted. She lifted her hands to rub at her temples._

 _"I'm… losing… who_ _I am_ _, Remington… part of who I am… a_ _big part_ _," she tried to explain. He sat back up holding his face in hand supported by elbow to knee, his heart suddenly dropping to his toes._

 _"What are you saying, Laura?" he asked, voice strained. "Do you want out?" She spun on her heel, shocked._

 _"What?!" she drew the word out in her surprise. "No._ _God no!_ _" she emphasized, approaching him and trekking her fingers through his hair. "_ _I love you_ _, more than you can even imagine." He nodded his head up and down quickly. "I love our life, our home." She lifted her eyes towards the ceiling, blinking her eyes. "And Olivia? I never thought you could love someone so absolutely, instantly. But I did and I do." She blew out a short breath and averted her face, but not before he saw the strain on it. One of his hands gripped her hip, while the other caressed her cheek._

 _"Tell me, love," he urged. She stepped away from him and paced across the room, before throwing her arms out in frustration._

 _"This is not what I envisioned for myself,_ _ever,_ _" she blurted out. "Unlike most of the girls I knew when I was little, I never wanted to be June Cleaver. I wanted to be anyone_ _but_ _her or women like her!"_

"Who?" he asked, baffled.

" _Leave It to Beaver,_ Hugh Beaumont, Barbara Billingsley, CBS, 1957-1963," she filled in. "June is married to Ward Cleaver. He goes to work each day, leaving her home to raise their two boys, to bake cakes, and bring him his slippers when he gets home. _I'm not June Cleaver, damn it!_ " she wailed.

"No, you're certainly not that. I can only imagine how long it would take me to extract those slippers from my nether region should I ask you to have them waiting," he chuckled. Unable to help herself, she snorted a laugh, then turned serious again, pressing a palm against her forehead.

"I can't be _that person_ and still know _who I am_. I can't be the person that sees you off in the morning, then waits for you to come home," she expounded, frustration growing. "I need to go to work in the morning, come home in the evening _with_ you, to _partner_ you throughout the day." She turned to face him, "I need to go back to work. I need to be _me_ again." He stood and embraced her.

"I know it's been a difficult month for you, love," he soothed. "In three weeks—" She shoved away from him, to pace again.

"It's not _been_ a month, Remington, it's been _eight!_ _Three quarters of a year_ since I've stopped investigating, stopped partnering you." She crossed her arms and tipped back her chin. "I'm going back to work on Monday." She steeled herself, prepared for the argument she was sure would come. He walked over to her and lay a hand on each arm, rubbing them.

"Are you well-enough… physically… to return already?" Her lips tightened at the question, and fire flashed in her eyes. She stepped away from him again.

"I had a baby, not major surgery," she bit out, waving an arm in his general direction. "Women used to give birth and go to work in the fields the following day. It's only been in recent years, comparatively speaking, that this… this… notion, women should sit around –"

"Monday it is, then," he interrupted, stopping her argument dead in its tracks. Her brows scrunched together at the answer.

"You're not going to argue? Demand that I stay home?" He laughed under his breath.

"Would it do any good if I did?" She held up both hands and shook her head slowly.

"I just thought…" the words petered off. He took a few cautious steps towards her.

"It seems it's my turn to ask how many times I need to remind you I may wish to impose limits on you, to keep you safe for myself, but I know perfectly well you'd just find a way to wriggle around them if you so choose." He took the final step and gathered her to him. "I miss partnering with you, too, Laura." She nodded against his chest, and relaxed against him.

"What about Olivia? She's too young to start at Bright Beginnings." Tilting her head back, she rested her chin against his chest while giving him a rueful look. "I hadn't made it past all the arguments I thought I'd need…"

"The woman who has lists of all she has to do, and lists summarizing those lists, doesn't have a plan?" he teased, dropping his arms down to around her waist, and swaying closer to her. She smacked his arm for his efforts but her lips lifted in a smile. "I imagine we can manage for two weeks. The nursery has been standing ready since a month before she was born," he cocked a brow at her, "and I'd be willing to lay odds Mildred and Bernice will go to war over who takes care of the her when we leave the office."

"I'm sorry," she told him, resting her hand against his cheek. He pursed his lips and gave her a solemn look as he nodded his head.

"As am I," he offered. He fingered back a piece of hair, tucking it behind her ear. "Does this mean I'm welcome back in our bed?" Her hand slid down his chest and she clutched his shirt in her fists while pressing her forehead against his chest.

"I hate it that I no longer sleep worth a damn without you next to me," she lamented. He bussed her on the top of her head.

"Given it may work in my favor in the future, I find myself rather grateful that particular condition plagues you." He lifted her chin with two fingers until her brown eyes met his blue. "Are we alright, Laura?" She stroked his shoulder with her hand and tilted her head.

"We always are in the end, aren't we?" she answered with a question of her own. He laughed a silent laugh, giving a nod of his head.

"We are, indeed," he agreed, then his lips descended to meet hers.


	9. Chapter 8: A Kind Year

Chapter 8: A Kind Year

"Go back to sleep, sweetheart," Laura advised Remington, as she lifted the baby off him and cradled her in an arm. Sleep bleary blue eyes rested upon her. Her fingers plucked at his hair which was standing on end, typical of how it looked in the mornings. "I'll take Olivia in with me, and postpone the staff meeting until eleven." He gave her a look of eternal gratitude, then closed his eyes, letting sleep drag him under again. She pressed a kiss to his brow then eased out of bed to feed Olivia before she showered and dressed for work.

The baby fared well during the light of day, cooing, watching her parents' every movement, and sleeping soundly. Each of the last four days, like the three before, that changed with the setting sun, the colic rearing its ugly head between seven-thirty and eight-thirty each evening. At first, she'd grow fussy, then irritable, and before the hour was out, her fists would be pumping, her legs pulling up and her screams would fill the house. By silent agreement, Laura would take the first round, walking, rocking, bouncing, singing and cooing, then, as the night wore on, Remington would take the next. Generally, whatever was amiss in their young child's life was righted between one and three in the morning, but, even then, only when she fell asleep laying against her father's chest. When he'd at last join his wife in bed, Laura would settle her head under his shoulder, and lay her hand upon the baby's bottom, her body and hand providing an extra layer of security for their daughter. For the next three and a half months this would be the new, 'new normal' in their lives.

So, of course, was the difference of routine on a work day. Gone were the days of Laura showering, then nursing a cup of coffee as she dressed, did her hair and makeup. Now there were bottles, diapers, wipes, changes of clothes, burp cloths, and blankets to pack into a diaper bag. Now there was a baby to diaper, feed, burp and dress. All before walking out the front door, of course… with baby, briefcase, purse, diaper bag and cup of coffee in hand. All-in-all, all those things combined added an hour to the morning routine.

But to return to work? Oh, that lost hour of sleep was worth every single second. As Laura stepped off the elevator on the eleventh floor of Century Towers, for the first time in weeks she felt… whole, there was no other word for it. She was no longer the pregnant detective veritable strangers felt compelled to touch and whose condition left clients panicking that she'd be working their case. She was no longer relegated to the role of housewife, watching as her husband left for work each day while she was left to care for home and child. After eight months, it had all come together and she was at long last Laura Steele: Business owner, partner, wife and mother.

Remington had noted the subtle changes in her within minutes of arriving at the office, the realization accompanied by equal parts pride and self-chastisement. The proud tilt of her chin had returned, the same tilt he hadn't even realized had slowly disappeared over the last months. She once again walked with that decisive, long-legged stride that has so quickly caught his fancy many years prior, yet he'd somehow failed to notice had recently gone AWOL. The weariness that had cast a strain about her eyes had vanished, replaced by a fire deep within those brown eyes he adored. She spoke definitively, making decisions without a glimmer of self-doubt. He loathed himself for not realizing the toll being relegated to a desk… or gone from the office altogether… had taken on her, and vowed it would never happen again, not if he had any say in the matter.

Her identity fully back in place, Laura began addressing other parts of herself she'd let go over the past months. When they arrived home after work each day, she'd taken to running again while Remington prepared their dinner, Olivia ensconced in her bouncy seat at his elbow – 'our time', he declared. She'd return home early enough to shower and change, then boost herself up on the other side of the counter, stealing nips of vegetables from plates as they spoke about their day. He relished those times, a tradition that had been years in the making… which he'd also failed to realize had gone missing until it was restored. Unconsciously, she'd taken to brushing back that rebellious lock of hair which insisted on falling across his brow and would often give him a saucy lift of a brow while perching on the edge of his desk in the office. The quiescent need for his wife which always smoldered deep in his belly, flared to life and, in turn, those unconscious touches of his for her, which had been an integral part of their romance from nearly the beginning, multiplied ten-fold.

She burned for him. There was no other way to express her need for him, for itchy had long gone by the wayside. If she believed the four years she'd held him at bay with only midnight fantasies to keep her company had been difficult, it was a thousand times worse wanting him and being unable to have him now. In the wake the girth of her body preventing her from making love with him as she wished for weeks on end, the wait until she was cleared had simply become unbearable. She found herself daydreaming at work about the feel of those gentle hands exploring her body, making her moan and writhe beneath them. As she ran, she remembered the onslaught of sensation caused by his mouth suckling a breast, a tongue connecting each of her freckles together one-by-one. At night, she woke aching for the man next to her, as memories of his skin beneath her hands, his hot breath against her neck, his Irish brogue thickening as he spoke to her in Gaelic… of him filling her in that most unique of ways… plagued her dreams.

They'd both reached a state of perpetual sexual frustration by the time Laura's appointment arrived. Months before, the couple had made a wager: if the baby was a girl, Remington would choose where they'd spend the weekend after she was given clearance; if it was a boy, she would choose. But, given Olivia's nightly difficulties, both agreed being gone for one night, let alone two, simply was not an option. Mildred had excitedly jumped at the chance to have the baby all to herself for nine hours on Saturday, and Frances had been equally thrilled to spend the whole of Sunday with her niece. So, when Laura had stepped into Remington's office on Friday afternoon and closed the door, then leaned against it, his eyes had lit upon her trying to read her expression. When a wide, dimpled smile spread across her face, he sprang from his chair, and within four long strides, he'd captured her against his body and lifted her to her tippy toes to devour her lips.

Remington had chosen the location with nearness in mind. Olivia was six-and-a-half weeks old, and both were reluctant to leave her this first time, worrying before they even departed about all the what ifs: What if she fell ill? What if she simply didn't adjust to being with someone other than them? What if the colic struck earlier in the day? There were simply too many ways their wee one might need them in little more than an instant, so he'd settled on simplicity: The Rossmore, the place where they'd nurtured a romance across the years then had first lived as husband and wife.

He'd arranged for Maria to clean the apartment and for Pierre to deliver a tray with assorted pastries, cheeses and fruits, as well as a bottle of Dom Perignon – 1976 of course. When the door to his old flat closed behind them, however, they hadn't the slightest interest in either eating or imbibing. They never even made it past the entryway after having been deprived of one another for so long. Clothes were peeled off, tossed aside and kicked mindlessly away, while hands roamed a bit frantically and lips sought lips with urgency. She wrapped her legs around his hips when he lifted her by the waist, then pressed her back to the wall.

"Now, Remington," she moaned, needing him too badly to concern herself with all the niceties that normally accompanied his lovemaking. He took her at her word, positioning himself then pressing inwards, groaning as her exotic warmth enveloped him.

"Are you okay, love?" he asked, clenching his teeth as he tried to hold onto his dubious control.

"I'd be fine if you'd get a move on," she panted, while thrusting her hips at him.

He chuckled a raspy laugh, then withdrew and pressed forward again as he covered her lips with his own. Their rhythm was fast, urgent, his hands and mouth wandering aimlessly, settling in no one place. She was equally fraught with the need to feel him beneath her hands, clutching his back, streaking her fingers through the thick mat of hair on his chest, dragging them through his raven hair. Very soon, he felt her legs tighten around his hips, then moments later she arched her back, calling out his name as her body quaked and her muscles clenched around him, sending him soaring as well. He buried himself deep within her, breathing her name against her neck. Only when her lips began trailing along his shoulder, her fingers stroking his back, did he disengage his body from hers to swing her into his arms and carry her in to bed.

Their immediate need answered, they made slow, lazy love throughout the morning, reacquainting themselves with each other's bodies, giving and taking pleasure without apology. She took her fill, greedily, of his body, soaking up the feel of his skin beneath her hands, making up for those weeks when her burgeoning belly prevented her from doing so. He in turn hid nothing from her, letting her know in the way his fingers grasped sheets, pillows… as his body twitched, arched and quaked… exactly how much he'd missed her touch. It was one of the things she adored most about him: this willingness to utterly surrender himself to her, heart and body. As were the words he'd speak against her lips, when his hand tangled in her hair, drawing her down to him for a kiss: Mo chuid den tsaol… Tá mo chroí istigh ionat _._ _And always… always… intense blue eyes stayed upon her, in whose depths she found his love for her, burning desire, utter vulnerability and deep, abiding gratitude that she'd at last allowed them to have the life they now called their own._

 _When she'd taken him to the very edge, she eased off to him and lay on her back, tugging his hand until he stretched his lean frame over hers. As she drew her hands down his back and spread her legs in invitation, a shiver traipsed over his skin. He took her over that most sought after peak, twice, joining her the last. Afterwards, he tucked his face into the crook of her neck as her hands caressed his sweat soaked back, and soothed back his damp hair. It was exactly the contact she'd been craving those last weeks of her pregnancy and she reveled in it._

 _The weekend had proven to be just what they'd needed to fully restore their easy intimacy as well as to recharge their batteries, so to speak. It also bore out what Laura had proposed when they were considering branching out into parenthood._

 _ABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABC_

" _ **If…. When … we do this, you and I… our relationship, our marriage has to come first… before everything, even our children. You and I, our relationship, will determine how our children see their home, how they view their future relationships, it will determine if they grow up secure and happy, or reach adulthood remembering unhappiness and loss as we did."**_

ABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABC

Twice a week they began surrendering Olivia over to the capable hands of Bernice or Mildred, so that they could lunch behind closed doors, taking a few precious moments to simply enjoy being Laura and Remington – friends, partners, lovers and husband and wife, nothing else. As the months wore on and Olivia's colic waned, they made it a point to have a date night each week: dinner, followed by dancing, the ballet, a movie or even simply a walk along the beach. But it was, more than anything, their evenings at home that cemented their relationship more with each passing day: a glass of wine as they talked softly before a fire; dancing in the living room or terrace as quiet strands of music filtered through the lower level of the house; frolicking in the pool or making love in the hot tub; or simply going over case files as they sat together on the couch, a movie playing, volume turned down, in the background.

By no means, did their focus on one another lessen the place of importance their baby daughter held in their lives. They were utterly captivated by her and spent every moment they could bonding with her while marveling over her latest developmental skills. It was not uncommon to find Remington at his desk of a morning, feet propped up on the corner, newspaper open before him as he enjoyed his morning tea, with Olivia reclining against him as he read to her aloud. Nor was it uncommon to find Laura setting aside budgets and case files in order to rock and sing Olivia to sleep in her small but warm office nursery. It had become a common occurrence for Bernice to yell after one or the other Agency owner to remove the burp cloth from their shoulder as they were walking out the door.

As for Bright Beginnings daycare? While the tuition was paid faithfully each week, by her six month of life Olivia had spent nary a minute there. Bernice and Mildred were tickled whenever they had the opportunity to spend time with the little one, quickly volunteering their services when Laura and Remington had a meeting or needed to leave the office. And the biggest surprise? Marvin T. Slottman, Jr. It turned out the nerdy white-collar investigator-in-training not only had a knack with children, but truly enjoyed them and Olivia gurgled and cooed whenever he held her. Thus, if clients were expected rendering Bernice unavailable and Mildred was otherwise engaged, he'd become, across time, the caregiver in waiting, a responsibility he eagerly took on.

As Olivia's first Christmas approached, Laura worried incessantly that Remington would go overboard, as he'd been inclined to do the Christmas prior with her nieces and nephews. Several times she'd attempted to indirectly address her concerns only to be blithely ignored, so she'd finally taken the straightforward approach one afternoon, three weeks before the holiday, as they'd eaten a quiet lunch in his office.

"We need to discuss Christmas," she informed him, before taking a bite of her enchilada. Bent over his tray of food, he looked up through his lashes at her.

"Oh? What've you on your mind?" he asked around the mouthful of burrito he was chewing.

"Restraint," she answered bluntly. "As in you, not getting carried away where our daughter is concerned."

"Don't be absurd, Laura," he smiled, before taking another bite of food. "Olivia will barely have reached her seventh week by then. There'll be plenty of time for that in the years to come." She nodded her head, then, setting her fork down, leaned back in her chair, stroking her throat.

"Do you recall two years ago when you and I sat in this very room discussing Christmas memories?" she finally asked. He flashed her a smile before sampling a taco.

"How could I forget?" She nodded then stood. His eyes followed her as he continued to eat.

"What was my fondest Christmas memory?" she prompted. His brows drew together as he tried to speculate on what she was about.

"Your family, getting along, even your mother," he provided. He gestured with his hand. "Of how your received a box of Parlays each Christmas, which is, of course, why I've given them to you since."

"And you followed a little boy with a sled, hoping for just a glimpse of the home, the family you never had at the holidays," she reminded him.

ABCABCABCABABCABCABCABCABCABC

 _ **"I remember one. I saw this father and his son. They were walking in the snow, hand in hand. The boy was about my age, ten or eleven. He had a sled, and, I don't know why, I followed them. I told myself it was for the sled. I was going to snatch it from the boy, sell it for a couple of quid, see if I could buy myself a place to kip that night. But that wasn't it at all. I just wanted to see…"**_

 _ **"What?"**_

 _ **"They went up the steps. Small house, nothing fancy. If I hung over the railings, I could look into the front room. There was a Christmas tree. Presents. Not a lot. People. Smiling. All warm and…loving."**_

ABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABC

"Yes, yes," he agreed, waving his hand a bit impatiently.

"My point is, our memories weren't about what we did or didn't receive," she pointed out. "They were about home and family, love and tradition. You, wishing for those very things. Me, regretting the loss of them when my father left." She threw out her arms. " _That's_ what I want Olivia to remember: A home, filled with love, warmth, tradition."

"As do I." He emphasized his words with a wave of the fork.

"Then we don't _spoil her_!" she insisted. "So that when Olivia's daughter asks her thirty years from now what her favorite present _ever_ was, she remembers the year she got that Barbie Dream House she'd been wishing for every night before she went to bed for six months… Or the art set when she was eleven, after she'd left notes all over the house for us, so we wouldn't forget she needed it because she wanted to be an artist just like her father. When you bury a child in _things_ , they fail to truly appreciate what they have!" Her voice rose throughout her speech, drawing him to lean forward and lay a shocked look upon her.

"Laura, what has gotten into you?" Across the room, she rubbed at her brow and let out a long sigh.

"I just think it's important that we come to an understanding now," she answered, the wind gone out of her sails. He stood and rounded the desk, leaning his backside against it.

"Tell me, in the four years I lived at the Rossmore, how many 'things' did I accumulate? Hmmm?" he questioned. She thought it over at length.

"Other than your movies, cookware and a few posters? Nothing I can put my finger on," she admitted.

"And have I ever bestowed an avalanche of meaningless gifts on you?" he pressed.

"Well, no," she conceded, "But you said—"

"Oh, I imagine we'll have many an argument in years to come," he acknowledged with a grin, "But not because of excessive quantity."

"What do you mean?" she asked suspiciously, as he approached her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She automatically lay her hands on his shoulders.

"Oh, a pony, I imagine, should she wish to learn to ride…" Her eyes narrowed. "A pair of tasteful diamonds when her Mommy decides she is old enough to get her ears pierced…"

"Remington…." She drew out his name in warning. He only smiled and drew her closer.

"An appropriate car when she begins to drive…"

"Mr. Steele…" His smile only widened as one arm slid up her back to circle her shoulders.

"As I said, many an argument," he reminded her without apology, the leaned down to taste her lips. She laughed and smacked his shoulder playfully.

"What am I going to do with you?" she wondered aloud while giving a rueful shake of her head.

"Don't you know?" he asked with lifted brow, before bending his head and stealing another kiss.

Olivia's first Christmas within the Steele household was kept simple. She received, per the Holt tradition, her first ornament: a baby rocking in a cradle. Her Da presented her with a new sketch of she and her parents snuggled up together on the hospital bed right after her birth, which would be added to the nursery wall while her Mommy bestowed on her a couple of new dresses. To Laura from Remington: scores for the piano, a silk robe in red, and a pair of diamond and golden citrine earrings with a matching necklace, designed by his own hand to commemorate Laura's first Christmas as a mother. She wasn't to be outdone, for she'd presented him with more movies for his library, of course, and a new, top of the line camera to replace the seven-year-old model he'd been using, as he'd taken a shine to commemorating Olivia's constantly changing image to film. It was the last present that had his brow and temperature rising at one: a scant piece of red lace and silk that had his fertile imagination driving him mad until Laura had at last donned it for him in the near dawn hours when their daughter permitted him to move her to her bed.

Despite Laura's efforts, their little girl was deluged with presents, albeit not at her father's hands. A handmade quilt in creams and dusty pinks from Elena and Marco; yet more clothes from Thomas & Catherine, Zeth & Calista, Bernice & Jason, Monroe & Jocelyn, Frances & Donald and Abigail; a music box from Christos & Helena to lull her on restless nights; a porcelain doll featuring black hair and bright blue eyes from Melina; a pair of satin trimmed blankets and a cozy bunting from Mildred to keep her snuggled warm on rides to work with Mommy on crisp, winter mornings; a soft, squishy, stuffed bunny from Murphy & Sherry which she'd drag around by the ear for years to come; and every teething ring, rattle and crinkling infant toy in existence, it seemed, from Fred, Brandon, Zack, Marvin, Danny, Mindy, Laurie Beth, Veronica, Maxie and Weasel.

Still, as the old year ended and the New Year arrived, her body tucked against Remington's, her hand resting on Olivia's diapered little bum, Laura couldn't help but conclude 1987 had been truly kind to her little family. Remington had finally found the answers to his past, while gaining a father in Thomas, to whom he grew closer each day. He'd saved the life of their unborn child, and survived Anna's murderous intentions. Roselli had been given a long sentence in Greece, and would not darken their doorstep again. The Agency had tripled in size, personnel wise, and doubled in size space wise. The friendship and marriage she shared with her partner and husband had only grown stronger. Then there was the biggest blessing of all: the baby who would turn two months old with only a few more flips of the minute tiles on their alarm clock. As the clock turned to midnight, she pressed up on an elbow and laced a hand through Remington's hair.

"Happy New Years, Mr. Steele," she whispered down to him, so as not to wake the sleeping baby. Her brown eyes shimmered and a smile danced on her lips. He cupped her neck with the hand not securing their child where she lay against his chest.

"Happy New Years, Mrs. Steele," he returned the greeting with a wide smile, then tugged her head downwards, sealing his lips over hers. What was meant to be a chaste kiss quickly took on a life of its own, until she pushed up and away from him. She blinked hard, her eyes remaining wide after.

"Apparently, the New Year will be coming in with a bang, after all," she murmured.

"I'd like to think there will be an explosive moment…" he waggled his brows at her, "…or two." She gave him an impish grin, before bending down and touching her lips to the top of their child's head.

"Happy birthday, sweet girl," she murmured, then settled back down in her husband's embrace.

If the year ahead was only half as perfect as this moment which ushered it in, she couldn't help believing 1988 would be a very, very good year.


	10. Chapter 9: Trouble with Travels

Chapter 9: Trouble with Travel

June 1988

Olivia was but seven months old when she became a seasoned international traveler, besting her own mother by twenty-seven years.

She was absolutely the apple of both her parents' eyes. She'd grown into a chubby little baby, with blue eyes as bright as her father's and his dark, lush hair, that already needed to be pinned back off her face with a barrette. She'd mastered the art of sitting up by five and a half months, scooting by six, and at seven months she was crawling everywhere, giving her parents a veritable run for their money as they chased after her trying to keep her from toppling over this or falling down that, her delighted giggles lighting the way the entire time. She had her Mommy's temper… and lungs… letting anyone near or far know when she was unhappy or frustrated, which wasn't very often, by setting off an ear-piercing scream that Remington and Laura would swear had punctured their ear drums a time or two.

But oh, she had her Da wrapped around her little finger and she knew it. Nearly anywhere they went, Olivia would be held securely in one arm, her little legs wrapped around his sides, while her hands kept busy yanking on her father's hair, tugging on an earlobe or grabbing his tie so that she might teethe on it. Her mother would look on, bemused, as the fastidious Mr. Steele who'd once proclaimed…

* * *

 _ **"Remington Steele never shows up wrinkled."**_

* * *

…appeared to think nothing of showing up slobbered upon with one side of his hair sticking up every which way. The man who once thought waking before eight 'the height of folly' was now lured from his bed and the warmth of his wife's body shortly after dawn each morning, as his small daughter would immediately begin chortling "Da Da" the moment she woke knowing he would come for her with a smile lighting his face as he greeted her…

"Maidin mhaith, a thaisce. Cad iad na rudaí nua atá ag fanacht linn inniu, hmmm?" (Good morning, my treasure. What wonderful new things await us today?)

Much as it was when she was first born, she kept her Da company in the kitchen as he prepared the evening meal, although she no longer occupied the bouncy seat but a high chair parked near at hand. On Sunday morning, a new tradition had evolved: Remington, with the assistance of Olivia, of course, preparing breakfast in bed for Laura, but now father and daughter tumbled into bed with Mommy to enjoy breakfast with her. It was a treasured time for all three of them. And on Saturday mornings when Remington would return from an early polo match? His beloved little girl would chortle with glee, clap her hands, while calling to him…

"Da Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa."

He'd sweep her up in one arm, bussing her upon the cheek, before gathering her mother in his other arm and seeking her lips.

Laura might have felt left out by the obvious love affair between father and daughter, but, to the contrary, she relished it. She'd once dared to predict…

* * *

 ** _"Who knows? Remington Steele might prove a good father some day."_**

* * *

His relationship with their daughter bore that prediction true and she watched with great pride over the relationship between the two. But that's not to say she was left out in the cold, not by any means. There were times in which no one but Mommy would do. Bath time was their exclusive time, Olivia cooing and squealing as she splashed in the tub, soaking both her mother and the floor. At naptime, it was Mommy Olivia wanted to rock her, to sing to her until she was lulled to sleep while Da would do in a pinch at night.

Now, as they rode the ferry to Island Santorini, Olivia laughing into the breeze, Laura tucked underneath Remington's chin and his arms embracing them both, Laura simply couldn't stop smiling. As their second anniversary had approached, as well as Olivia's Baptism, they'd begun making plans for the two weeks the Agency would close: Two nights at Ashford to honor when they'd finally taken that step towards the future which was now their reality… and to check in on their investment, of course; four nights in London, to spend time with Thomas and Catherine; and then six full nights in Oia, where Olivia would not only be Baptized, but they'd celebrate their second wedding anniversary. In the week before they were to depart, Laura had often found herself snickering behind a hand or laughing outright, as her normally suave husband was reduced to a bowl of quivering gelatin, worrying, as he was, about all that might go wrong during their daughter's first travels.

"Perhaps we should consult with the pediatrician," he'd suggested one night, as he worried a thumb with his teeth. "Make certain the babe being at such high altitudes will bring no harm, eh?"

"What if she finds she can't sleep in a strange crib?" he'd worried another, as they lay in bed. "I suppose we could always ship her crib to Ashford, then make arrangements for it to be stowed on the ship and train to London, hmmm?"

"Even at this time of the year, Ireland can hold quite a nip in the air," he'd fretted over dinner one evening. "What if she should fall ill? I'll just make certain Mickeline, Father and Elaina have a pediatrician's phone number at hand."

But it was what had happened on the morning of their departure for Ireland that had left her in fits of helpless giggles. Their baggage stowed in the trunk of the limo, Olivia sat perched on Laura's lap on the couch as her mother played with and sing-songed to her. For the half-dozenth time in the last ten minutes, she heard Remington's footfalls on the stairs on his way back downstairs. Standing in the doorway to the living room, he rubbed at his face with his hand, clearly frustrated, before dropping to hands and knees, crawling across the floor and looking under chairs, tables, loveseats and sofas.

"What are _you doing_?!" she'd asked. He shoved up into a kneeling position when he answered.

"Have you any idea where her blanket has gotten off to?" he inquired. "The pink one with the satin on the edges?" He twirled his finger as though indicating the outside of the blanket. "As you well know, she can't sleep without the blasted thing, and I can't find it anywhere!" She'd tried not to laugh, she really had, but by the time he'd finished, she was powerless to stop it. Bewitched by her Mommy's laughter, Olivia's own had joined in as well.

"You mean the one," Laura pointed in the general direction of his person, "Hanging off your shoulder?" He glanced in the direction she pointed, then did a double take. A flush spread over his skin, mortified as he was at the oversight, as he took to his feet and brushed a hand at the knees of his slacks. Crossing the room, he plucked Olivia off her lap, then held out a hand to her.

"Really, Laura, mustn't dawdle or we'll miss our flight," he admonished. Her laughter had followed them out of the house, and had periodically erupted again throughout the morning as she recalled the incident.

Their stay at Ashmore had been simultaneously overwhelming and amusing. Mickeline and staff were beside themselves with the return of the Earl and Countess of Claridge, but it was over Little Lady Steele that they'd fawned. Mickeline had made certain the room closest to the master quarters was completely renovated to befit both a little girl and the royalty that the wee one was. Laura had wandered the room, drawing her fingers along the glossy white wainscoting, the pink damask wall paper, had fingered the delicate hand knit blankets, the drapes of Irish lace, truly humbled by the efforts made on behalf of their little girl. Remington had made all the appropriate oooh's and ahhh's, and warmly thanked Mickeline and staff for their efforts but as soon as the door to the room had closed, had once again begun to ruminate.

"I was thinking, Laura." The way he spoke had her turning to look at him. "Perhaps it would be best if we simply installed the babe's crib on the other side of our room." The comment earned the flash of a dimple.

"Oh?" She said nothing more.

"The walls in these castles are so thick, there's every chance we wouldn't hear if Olivia needed us," he suggested.

"I suppose it's a good thing you had the foresight to pack the baby monitor, then," she grinned.

"But suppose it doesn't do the job?" She poked the tip of her tongue into a cheek, trying not to laugh. "She could be in her wailing, quite alone, and we'd have no idea.

"I understand," she appeared to agree, then added. "And Mr. Steele?" In hindsight, he should have realized that particular name to address him had meant he'd by no means walk away a victor in this little decision.

"Yes, Mrs. Steele?" He walked over to her, smiling, and bending his head to touch his lips to hers before gathering her closer, relieved she had been so readily accepting of his concerns.

"I can honestly say I never thought I'd see the day you'd choose to forgo our…" she tiptoed her fingers up his chest "…physical relationship for days, maybe even weeks in order to see to the comfort of our child. I'm impressed. A little disappointed, as I'd looked forwards to our nights here… alone… but impressed." His back straightened and he peered down at her, wondering what she was blathering on about.

"Uh, Laura, precisely when did I say I was willing to 'forgo' our physical relationship?"

"Well," she drew out the word, and looked up at him with wide-eyed innocence, "You know I couldn't _possibly_ make love with you when our very alert and curious child is in the same room as us." His back stiffened and he stared down at her to see if she was serious. His heart sunk to his toes when he realized she was. Abstinent? Here, off all places? With his wife's lovely, lithe body pressed against his throughout the evenings as they slept? Well, _that_ thought was untenable.

"Perhaps we should test those monitors, eh?" he offered. "No need to hastily move the crib should we be able to hear her." He chose to ignore her laughter, covering her lips with his and kissing her senseless until she forgot what she'd found so amusing.

They'd put that alone time in the evenings to good use. How could they not, with the memories that swirled about them in that master suite? Their first open admissions of how they felt about one another, their efforts to find their way past the difficulties in the wake of Remington's attempt to marry the hooker… the first time, well times, making love. It was here, in this place, more so than anywhere else, that their marriage had become quite real to them both, and had served as the impetus of the wedding in Greece. A heady night of lovemaking ended near dawn as their bodies shuddered in unison, and Remington collapsed partially atop Laura, his head laying on her breast, an arm and a leg wrapped around her.

"That was…" Laura panted, as she fingered his sweat dampened hair back off his forehead.

"Indescribable," he finished the thought for her, seeking out her hand and twining their fingers together then brushing his lips across her fingers. He shifted off at her to lay on his side and waited as she turned to face him. Tucking one of her legs between his and resting her head on his upper arm, she closed her eyes as his fingers journeyed, whisper soft, over her eyes, cheeks, neck, while his other hand played in her hair. "There are still days, Laura, where I'm afraid to wake for fear this life that has somehow become mine is nothing more than a dream." Her eyes blinked open at his words, and she considered him at length.

"But it's not," she reminded him, simply, resting a palm against his cheek. He nodded slowly, his eyes resting upon her as he continued to caress her face, neck, shoulders. She allowed the silence to linger as he worked through whatever it was on his mind, her hand stroking his back, side, fingers stopping to toy with the thick hair of his chest before returning to his back again.

"My God, Laura," he breathed, "Nearly two years later, and I still ache for you as much as I did all those years when you kept me at bay." Her only answer was a waggle of her brows and a touch of her lips against his. He cupped her cheek with his hand, his thumb caressing it. "Have you any idea how very much I love you?" he asked, gruffly.

"Yeah, I do," she answered with a quiet confidence that soothed his heart. "It's still nice to hear the words every once in a while, though," she added, softly. She fingered back a few wild strands of hair behind his ear. "I love you, too, you know." He closed his eyes, savoring the words, then cupped the back of her head and pressed two hard kisses to her lips. He turned a mischievous eye on her.

"Enough so that you might finally refer to me as 'My Lord'?" Her lyrical laughter filled his ears.

"Not and mean it," she refused… or so it seemed, until a tip of a flirtatious finger trekked along his jaw then down his chest. "But, I _might_ be willing to fulfill a fantasy tomorrow night, should you appropriate the correct clothing." He swallowed hard then smiled wide, gathering her close then bussing the top of her head once she tucked it beneath his chin to sleep.

 _No, not a dream,_ he mused, as he closed his eye, letting the rhythm of the hand that whispered absently over his back, lure him towards sleep. _Never in a million years could I dream up anyone quite like her._

That fantasy had, indeed come true, when Remington had managed to rent a gentleman's suit and a wench's dress in Galway. She'd driven him mad with her missish comments, her doe-eyed looks, and deep curtsies, each time intoning a subservient "My Lord." Her antics had enflamed him so, that both had a bit of trouble ignoring their various aches and pains the following morning as they'd begun their journey to London.

A journey which would be taken one suitcase heavier than when they'd arrived, as the staff at Ashford had buried their 'Little Lady' in gifts and trinkets: delicate lace dresses, hand knit sweaters, crocheted blankets, hand crafted cloth books and a rag doll, humming tops and jumping jacks… the list went on. It was reminiscent of two years prior when everywhere Remington had traversed he'd been handed an outstanding bill for castle upkeep, except now he or Laura were handed a gift for the babe. They both said a silent prayer of thanks, when they'd boarded the boat for England, that at least they'd not be laden down with further gifts in London, as Thomas was nothing if not practical.

Of course, they hadn't anticipated Catherine. Thomas and Catherine had stayed in LA for just shy of ten weeks after Olivia's birth, both thoroughly enamored with the little one. For days on end, Catherine had appeared to have something on her mind, and finally, on the last day of their stay in the States, she'd summoned the courage to demurely request…

"I was hoping, perhaps, Olivia might refer to me as Grandmum." At the look of surprise found on both Remington and Laura's face, she hastened to add, "I know I'm nothing more than your stepmother, Remington. If I've overstepped my bounds, please, accept my apology." Thomas had reached for his wife's hand and given it a supportive squeeze.

"You've done no such thing," Remington assured. "I suppose Laura and I were both caught a bit off-guard as we'd assumed you'd naturally take on an appellation in that vein." Laura nodded at Catherine.

"He's right," she agreed aloud.

At the front door that evening, as Remington and Laura had bid the couple farewell and safe travels, Thomas had hugged his son, then shaken his hand.

"Thank you, son." Said son gave him a perplexed look.

"Whatever for?"

"For the kindness you and Laura extended Catherine," he elaborated. "We'll never have children of own, so Olivia may be the closest she ever comes to having a grandchild."

"There was nothing 'kind' about it at all," Remington corrected. "It's a simple matter of fact: By way of being married to my father, she is, quite simply, Olivia's grandmother. We'd never consider denying Olivia the connection to someone who so clearly loves her."

And Catherine had apparently taken that role to heart, for she'd showered Olivia not only with time, but, Laura would swear, every piece of well-tailored, smocked and embroidered children's clothing in London. Dresses, longalls, and nightgowns, in every pastel shade one might imagine. Mary Janes in red, white, pink, and black. Tights and frilly socks to match those dresses, which would be complemented by those shoes. Barrettes and ribbons for her hair. She'd been avalanched in enough clothing, shoes and accessories that Laura and Remington wouldn't have to consider buying a single piece of clothing until the following winter.

"I may have gotten a bit carried away," Catherine apologized, as she looked at the clothing which cluttered nearly every surface of Remington and Laura's bedroom at their townhouse. "I simply couldn't help myself. I've dreamt for a lifetime of how I'd dress a little girl of my own, so once I began, I was unable to stop!"

"No!" Laura protested, feeling awful Catherine had caught on to her restraint. "They're all so lovely! I can't thank you enough. Really, I can't. I'm just… overwhelmed… by your thoughtfulness."

Catherine had readily accepted her explanation but that night, after they'd prepared for bed, Laura had flopped onto her back, then huffed a none-too-eloquent breath out. Chuckling, Remington had stretched out on his side next to her, laying a hand on her stomach and rubbing.

"Does it really distress you that my family has showered Olivia with gifts?" he wondered aloud. She turned her head and gave him a rueful look.

"That's not it at all," she denied. "I'm simply beginning to realize we're going to need a home the size of Ashford if this keeps up," she added ruefully. She turned on her side to face him. "In truth, I'm terrified just thinking about what might await us at her Baptism." He grinned down at her, as he lifted her hair over her shoulder.

"Well, let me put your mind at ease. The Androkus family has a long-standing tradition where Baptisms are concerned, as they do for most anything else," he informed her. "All guests are to present only cash or savings bonds to the child in question, although they are not obligated to do anything at all. The only gift to be bestowed upon the child is by the godparents – a token to represent the events of the day, that the child may keep with them always." She sighed deeply, in relief.

"It's no wonder I adore your family," she commented, with a quiet smile.

"Mmmmm, and it's a feeling returned by them for you," he noted, then leaned in to touch his lips to her cheek then brow. A smile lifted her lips.

"Is something on your mind, Mr. Steele?" she inquired, teasingly, as he continued to pepper her face with tiny kisses.

"Most assuredly, Mrs. Steele," he hummed.

With a laugh then a sigh, all concerns regarding Olivia's recent acquisitions faded away.

Now, here they stood at the bow of the ferry, watching as Island Santorini approached.

"I don't think I'll ever grow tired of this particular view," she breathed. He tilted his head to look down at Laura and Olivia.

"I know I won't," he murmured, smiling when she slanted her eyes towards him. "Uh, Laura… I think you need to be prepared for the number of people that will be likely awaiting our arrival at Marcos and Elena's," he forewarned.

"Oh, I remember what it was like two years ago," she assured him, then caught him tugging at his ear out of the corner of her eye. "Remington—" she drew out his name warningly.

"Then, I'd merely brought home a wife… as shocking as that was," he began. "But now, not only do I bring home that same wife on the occasion of our second anniversary, but our first child, as well." He mulled for a long second then added, "Announced, at that." She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly.

"How many people?"

"A rough estimate? Two hundred or so, throughout the evening." _That_ called for another deep, cleansing breath.

"Alright," she elongated the word. She'd expected thirty, maybe forty people, given Marcos, Elena, their three children and their children's families already equated to twenty or so people. Then there were the family members who were always at the house: Alex, Stavros, Mikos and, _Oh, God_ , Ioseph. "I imagine Ioseph is still… irritated, after… events… last year?"

The year prior, when Laura and Remington had spent their anniversary on the islands, they'd been shooed off to confession by Elena – nothing surprising there. However, try as they might, the couple was unable to come up with a thing between them, which would require reconciliation. Ioseph, Remington's 'cousin' and Priest, believing they were being deceptive therefore not only violating the sanctity of the sacrament, but disrespecting his authority with the Church, had sought out proof of their deceit. Believing he'd found it, he'd Ioseph had attempted to enlist his Aunt Elena's aid in redressing the situation, but instead had turned a pleasant dinner on its head, thanks to his fervent intent to indict them. His efforts with Elena had failed, but had enraged Marcos. As such, Ioseph was 'sentenced', so to speak, to hard labor upon his Uncle's ship, so that he might have the time to consider his own transgressions. Ioseph had been thoroughly put out, and kept that feeling secret from no one.

"I dunno," he admitted. "However, I imagine it will go one of two ways."

"And those are?" She hoisted Olivia higher on her side. Seamlessly, Remington plucked the baby from her arms, plunked the baby on his hip, and wrapped his arm back around her.

"Well," he drew out the word, while dropping a shoulder then raising it again, "Given how much Ioseph detests physical labor, we can hope he won't wish to press his luck with Marcos again so soon, and will hold the peace until the mood to do otherwise strikes him…" Her brows knit together.

"Or?" Unseen behind her, he pursed his lips, giving a sway to is head, before a single corner of his lips, lifted into a smile.

"Or," he answered, drawing out the word, "When we go to confession, which you know we must before the Baptism, he'll nail us to the wall with a very large stake for whatever transgressions we confess to, no matter how small. Then we'll have to decide if we'll, forgive the expression, take it like a man and do every last bloody one of whatever we are assigned—"

"And why would we do that?!" she barked a laugh.

"Because if we don't, he'll plead out of officiating over Olivia's Baptism by telling Elena he is uncomfortable doing so given our refusal to respect his authority in the Church—" Her back stiffened.

"He wouldn't dare!" she proclaimed, flabbergasted a Priest could be so petty. He raised and dropped that shoulder again.

"Laura, you've met the man…"

" _He would_ ," she groaned. "So, he'd punish an infant for _our_ so called sins, while breaking Elena's heart in the process! He'd never get away with it. Marcos would-"

"Assign him to further labor on the ship. Yes, yes." He took a breath and let it out, then finished ruefully. "But even that assignment to hard labor would have its own point: He'll do the time, but in the end, it is he that can do the most damage and all in the name of God." She could only shake her head.

"The sword it is, then," she concluded the only way she could.

"The sword it is," he concurred.

* * *

 _ **A/N: I will not be posting for a while – two weeks, maybe three at the outside due to a bit of a crisis that needs my undivided attention. When I return we'll have only two chapters or so, before we begin moving into the meat of this story. ~ RSteele82**_


	11. Chapter 10: Mischief & Malevolence

_**A/N: Only two chapters this week, but they are long ones. I hope you enjoy! If you do, drop me a review!**_

* * *

Chapter 10: Mischief and Malevolence

When they arrived at the Androkus home, Laura and Remington took several seconds to prepare themselves for what was ahead, before he swung open the front door and escorted his wife inside.

"Elena!" a voice boomed across the crowded room. "Come. Our son and daughter have at last arrived with our mo̱ró korítsi!"

All three dozen heads in the large, but crowded living room, turned their way, as Marcos plowed his way through the mingling throngs of Androkus family and family friends. Laura was immediately grabbed up in a joyous bear hug, that crushed the air out of her lungs in a whoosh as he lifted her off her feet. Setting her down, he loudly kissed both of her cheeks, before embracing her face in his hands.

"You grow more lovely by the day, Lara," he complimented, then observed, "This tells me marriage and motherhood bring you much joy." Slipping out of his hands, she nodded and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"They do," she agreed with a wide smile, then laughed as Elena arrived at her husband's side and immediately relieved Remington of the squirming Olivia. With his 'son's' arms now empty, Marcos wrapped his arms around Remington, giving him much the same hug as he'd greeted Laura with while Elena fussed over the baby.

"Oh, let your Yia-Yia see you," Elena oozed over Olivia, who fastened her bright blue eyes on the short, rotund woman with kind eyes. "Your pictures do you no justice, my Olivia. You look just like your Papa when he was a little boy."

"She's certainly her father's daughter," Laura agreed with a laugh, fondly stroking her fingers against the back of the baby's head.

"Ah, Xenos, you wear your pride for your family on your sleeve, my son," Marcos commented, then gave him a hearty slap on the back that rattled Remington's brain.

"I've much to be proud of," he concurred.

"Come, come, your brothers and sister await you on the terrace," Marcos urged. "Elena," he held out his arms, wagging his fingers in his wife's direction, "Let our Olivia meet her Pappouli." He cradled the infant in his arms, speaking to her, while walking through dining room and kitchen to the terrace, Laura and Remington following behind.

"I suspect we may see very little of our daughter whilst here," Remington leaned down to quietly muse in her ear.

"I think you may be right," she agreed, laughing softly, as his hand landed on the small of her back, escorting her through the house.

"Xen!" Melina screeched from across the veranda when she spotted the couple's arrival. Running across the pavers, she threw herself at his body full force.

"Ooomph!" He teetered then found his footing. "Lina, how many times must I remind you, you're not four-years-old any longer and may well see both of us lying, quite undignified I might add, upon the ground one of these days."

"Hush, Xen," she ordered, hugging him tight. "You know you're as happy to see me as I am you." Grinning, he returned her embrace.

"You know that I am," he agreed, releasing her as she turned to hug her sister-in-law.

"Still keeping my brother in line?" Melina queried, teasingly.

"Well, you know what they say: It's a dirty job…" Laura laughed.

"He's behaving himself, then?" Melina pursued, knowingly irritating her big brother. Laura gave a single shake of her head.

"That would depend on the day," Laura answered, amusement lighting her eyes. "But suffice it to say, he's made friends with the couch on more than one occasion."

"I _am_ standing right here," he cut in, feigning a scowl. Melina merely patted him on his shoulder, dismissively, never even looking in his direction.

"Tell me, is he as useless as Christos when it comes to changing and feeding the baby?" Remington scowled quite for real this time.

"I'll have you know, I—"

"Shhhhhh," Melina shushed him, holding up a sightless hand in his direction to emphasize her admonishment. Laura's eyes danced with merriment watching the interplay. No one could get under Remington's skin quite as quickly as his 'little sister.' Sure enough, his back stiffened and he flicked an irritated hand in Melina's direction.

"I'm going to find where my daughter's been whisked off to," he informed the women. To what end, he was unsure, as Melina simply shushed him again while his treacherous wife sank her teeth into her lower lip to keep from laughing.

"You have a gift for annoying him," Laura observed with a laugh, watching his stiff, retreating back. Melina waved it off.

"He'll be fine. Now, tell me the truth," she prodded.

"Actually," Laura drew out the word, "Xenos is an _exceptional_ father. "Truth be told, Olivia has him wrapped around her little finger and she knows it. There's not a thing he wouldn't do for her." Melina gave her a doubtful look.

"I can't imagine my brother changing a diaper, let alone risking spit up soiling his clothing. He's always been so… so…" she paused as she searched for the word.

"Fastidious? Persnickety? Fussy?" Laura asked, listing off any number of adjectives which could apply to Remington.

"Exactly," Melina concurred. Laura held up both hands towards her.

"I'm not saying he doesn't complain when presented with a particularly… interesting… diaper, but he does it nonetheless," Laura attested. "As for feeding her, he was pushing to share that time before she was even born." She gave Melina a confident smile. "You'll see. Now, what's this about Christos? With their brood, I can't imagine Helena letting him get out of helping."

"Oh, she used to try, but she says it is easier to do it herself than clean up the mess after he gets sick…" Laura snorted a disbelieving laugh.

"You don't mean…" Melina nodded her head in confirmation. "Oh, my. That has to be a sight to see." A mischievous gleam appeared in Melina's eyes.

"I have an idea…"

As sister and wife continued their conversation, Remington spied Elena sitting in a chaise down at pool level, Olivia in her lap, while Calista and Helena perched on the side of the chaise nearest to them, talking and playing with the baby. Turning in the direction of the stairs that would take him to the deck, he came to a halt when a flattened hand came down hard enough on his shoulder to knock him forward a step. Adrenaline kicking in, he spun on his heel, fist at the ready – the response a remnant of far too many days on the street, not to mention his most recent line of work.

"For Christ's-," he left the thought unfinished. "Christos, precisely how many times must I warn you that you may well find yourself laid out one day for such shenanigans?" Christos bore him no mind, and enveloped him in a bear hug, perversely giving Remington another couple of hard thumps on his back.

"Tell me, big brother, where is my niece and soon-to-be goddaughter?" the muscular blonde inquired. Remington nodded his head towards the deck below.

"I was just preparing to check in on her." Christos watched as Helena took the baby from Elena and groaned loudly. Remington's brow furrowed in answer. "What? What is it?"

"Helena's been speaking for months now of Eirene, of how she's no longer a baby," Christos filled in, as they began descending the stairs. "Given the way she's looking at Olivia, I suspect she'll be pressing hard for our sixth by the time you leave."

"I take it you'd rather hold steady at five, then?"

"For the first time in seven years, we've neither a crib in our room nor a babe waking us several times a night. It's been… different. Damned enjoyable, to tell the truth." He huffed a breath. "Not to mention, should we have another, Helena will press hard for a larger home." Remington guffawed at that.

"Ah, so it's not so much another little tyke to look after but that Helena will be expecting you to open your wallet," he speculated. Christos gave Remington a doleful look.

"Emptying it is more like." Remington clapped the younger man on his shoulder.

"Ahh, but for a worthy cause," he noted, giving a nod towards his daughter, who spotted him in that instant.

"Da-Da!" Olivia chortled at seeing her father, excitedly bouncing up and down in Helena's lap.

"Ah, mo stór, been missing your Da have you now?" he asked, easily lifting her, then holding at his side in a single arm. A chubby hand grabbed a fistful of his hair and gave it a hearty yank.

"Da!" Remington chuckled and extracted her hand from his lock, before kissing her on the cheek.

"Your Da I am, indeed," he agreed. With a contented sigh, she settled her head against his shoulder, then slipped a pair of her fingers into her mouth to suckle.

"Xenos, she's beautiful," Helena complimented. Remington gave her a smile once reserved for when his ego was stroked, and now used often when someone made mention of his daughter.

"Laura and I certainly think so, but we are admittedly biased."

"As her Godmother, I may be as well, but it doesn't change the facts," Helena countered. "She is your exact likeness." He chuckled in answer.

"Hmmmm, yet she is her mother through and through. It will serve her well in life… But don't tell Laura I said that." He gave the group a conspiratorial wink.

"Will we be hearing glad tidings again in the near future?" Helena wondered. Next to Remington, Christos turned his head as though looking for someone behind him, while muttering an oath under his breath. Remington chuckled low in his throat, as much as for his brother's reaction as his own to the question.

"Oh, I don't know about that," he answered honestly. "Laura and I are still learning how to be parents, not to mention enjoying our time alone with Olivia far too much."

"You don't wish for a son, then?" Calista asked, joining the conversation.

"Laura and I've not discussed more than one. Should Olivia be our only child, I imagine I'll be quite content."

"I believe every man should have a son to carry on his name, his legacy," Helena shared, her eyes settling on her husband as she said this. Christos squirmed notably under her gaze.

"Ahh, but in this age a woman can do both," Remington pointed out. "If Laura's taught me anything, it is that a woman can do anything a man can, if she puts her mind to it."

" _Yes_ , she can," Laura agreed, having overheard what he'd said as she and Melina joined the group. Remington stretched out his free arm, and she stepped freely into his embrace. She patted him fondly on his chest. "It's taken Xenos a while to understand that, but I'm glad to see he's finally gotten the message."

"Now, Laura, I've never had anything but the utmost respect for you and your abilities," he contradicted.

"One might disagree, given you mistook me for a secretary when we first met," she accused lightly, "Not to mention our conversation over a certain bottle of champagne later that evening."

* * *

 _ **"You must admit, your occupation is highly unusual for a woman. Especially one of such obvious breeding and intelligence."**_

 _ **"You carry the same prejudice most people do. Because of my sex, I'm not**_ _ **built**_ _ **for the job."**_

 _ **"It**_ _ **is**_ _ **a rather rough and tumble trade.**_

* * *

"I never mistook you for a secretary," he denied. "I'd been observing your little operation for quite some time and it was more than evident who was in charge. I couldn't very well walk into your Agency and acknowledge you as such without blowing my own cover, now could I?"

"Uh huh," she answered with a roll of her eyes.

"It's the truth," he insisted. "As for the last, need I remind you the only frame of reference I had for private detectives at the time was what I'd seen in your American movies?"

Calista and Helena had been watching the interplay between the couple with interest, but it was Calista who dared to ask, "How _did_ the two of you meet?"

"I'd gone to Los Angeles to… err… retrieve a rare set of gems stolen from the South African government, in exchange for a small finder's fee." Remington lifted a playful brow at Laura and pursed his lips.

"While I was hired to protect the jewels from being… 'retrieved'… since true ownership had not been established," she added.

"And by retrieved you mean steal, isn't that correct, Xenos?" came a voice from behind them. Remington's back stiffened, but he plastered a smile on his face as he turned to greet Ioseph.

"Ioseph," he greeted, with an accompanying nod of recognition with his head. "I suppose that would depend on one's perspective, wouldn't it?" he asked cousin and Priest. "From my own, I would have been merely returning the jewels to their rightful owner."

"An ownership undecided, it seems," Ioseph pointed out. Remington glanced down at Laura, whose facial expression all but screamed 'sword indeed.' "May I?" Ioseph asked, even as he plucked Olivia from Remington's grasp.

"By all means," he ground out, resisting the urge to snatch his child back from his cousin's arms, and given the way Laura's hand clutched at his arm, she felt much the same. To the surprise of both, the man gave Olivia a genuine smile and never blinked so much as a single lash when the infant thwacked him soundly upon the face with an open palm.

"I wish I could do that and get away with it," Laura muttered under her breath so only Remington could hear. He covered the laugh her comment wrought with a quick clearing of his throat.

"And who will make certain this child I am to baptize will grow up to understand, the only perspectives that matter are that of God and the law?" He spoke quietly, using animated faces to entertain Olivia, but the words scorched nonetheless.

"Laura's managed to keep me in line all these years—"

"Ah, the woman who believes it is justified to ignore the boundaries of the law, so long as she… _perceives_ … it is in the interest of the greater good," Ioseph countered in the same voice, wincing a bit as Olivia, giggling, gave his hair a firm tug. Thankfully, the baby was oblivious to her father's surge of temper, whereas her mother was not.

"Remington," she warned under her breath, "Swords, remember the swords." Still he leaned towards the other man, intent on taking his child, handing her to Laura, and laying the man flat out, priest or not.

"Ioseph!" Elena reprimanded before the situation escalated further. "Marcos has made it clear previously that comments such as these towards family will not be tolerated in our home, has he not?" White hot anger flared in the man's eyes, but he feigned contrition.

"He has," Ioseph acknowledged, then handing Olivia to Laura, approached the chaise where the elderly woman was seated and leaned down to buss her on her cheek. "My most humble of apologies, Thea Elena. I meant no more than to determine how the child will be instructed as she grows, as is my duty."

"Questions which will find their answers tomorrow evening when our Xenos and Lara attend confession, yes?" she asked pointedly.

"Of course, Thea," he agreed. Straightening, he made for the stairs and the upper level of the outdoor area, but not before casting a triumphant look in Remington's direction, at the directive the couple would meet with him on the morrow. Helena, Christos and Calista each breathed a visible sigh of relief at the man's departure.

"One of these days, Mama—" Christos began, then stopped at his mother's quelling look, as Melina and Zeth joined the group.

"So our Xenos intended to… retrieve… what you were guarding," Calista addressed Laura, as though Ioseph's interruption had never happened.

"He did," she confirmed.

"Then how did you-?" Helena stepped in to ask, not finishing the question.

"Laura and I came to the realization that our own unique… contributions… could combine to create something truly worthy," Remington provided, then looked down at the woman of topic, his eyes alight with his love for her. "Although, I don't think either of us quite suspected in those first days how truly remarkable our partnership would become. Eh?"

"I'll never say," she answered, teasing brown eyes looking up at him from beneath lifted brows. Unable to resist, he leaned down and touched his lips to hers.

"Oh, you should hear the stories about Xen and Laura that Ms. Mildred shared with us last summer," Melina enthused, as she stood and took Olivia from Laura's arms then sat down at the end of her mother's lounge. Remington and Laura glanced at one another, a mutual shrug of their shoulders saying neither was aware of this.

"I shudder at what she might have said," Remington mused aloud. Melina flashed him an impish smile while Calista and Helena leaned forward, eager to hear the details they'd missed previously.

"Ms. Mildred said she knew within two days of meeting them, that Xen was head over heels for Laura," Melina began. "They were in…." she paused, racking her brain, then found the answer, "Acapulco, Mexico and Xen was positively pouting that Laura was acting like Gypsy Rose with a suspect, while all he ever saw of her was Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm." Christos and Zeth both guffawed at this, while Elena reached for Laura's hand giving it a squeeze.

"Our Lara is a good girl," Elena praised as Remington grimaced at the memory of just how 'good'. Laura graced him with a smug smile upon seeing his fleeting reaction.

"Found a woman you couldn't charm, did you then, Xen?" Zeth ribbed.

"Not unlike yourself with Natassa, eh?" This time it was he who laughed when Zeth blanched as Calista's narrowed eyes came to fall upon him.

"What about _Natassa?_ " Calista asked, fairly spitting out the name.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you!" Melina squeaked, bouncing on the edge of her seat, making Olivia who was still on her lap squeal with laughter. "Last year, after Xen was shot, Xen and Christos revealed…"

And so the afternoon went, with Melina weaving the tale of Laura and Remington's romance, as seen from Mildred's perspective, for the sake of Calista and Helena while the three brothers routinely jibed one another or tossed each other under the proverbial bus.

* * *

Dinner for seventy-five family members is no little affair, either in the work involved or the sheer space required to seat such a mob. As such, five table, accommodating fifteen people each, were set up on the expansive veranda, with one of those tables designated strictly for children – nine of those spots, of course, assigned to Zeth and Christos's oldest children. Nicco, Zeth's two year old, and Eirene, Christos's daughter of the same age, along with Olivia were installed next to their parents in high chairs at the main table.

The meal had gone smoothly, thanks to Elena's foresight in having assigned Ioseph a seat at the furthest table with his parents. Yet, as the meal ended, much like anytime the four siblings came together, there was mischief to be found, with Zeth made an unwitting accessory. He'd been bragging about his most recent acquisition, a 1965 classic Iso Grifo as dinner had wound down, and once the meal was completed, invited Remington to accompany him to his house so they might share the testosterone laden experience of oozing over the car. When Laura had simply shrugged her shoulders, he'd eagerly accepted the invite.

Thus, when Olivia began soundly fussing a little more than a half hour later and a cursory check confirmed the infant was not only ready for her evening bottle but in desperate need of a diaper change, Laura's eyes caught Melina's, and she gave the younger woman a conspiratorial smile before lifting Olivia from her high chair.

"Chris, would you mind giving me a hand with your Goddaughter?" Laura asked, carefully blanking her face, lest he suspect what was about to come.

"Of course," he agreed, rising from his seat. "What is it you need?" he asked, taking Olivia when Laura handed her to him.

"Would you mind changing her while I go make a bottle?" It was only at her asking, that he took a breath and paled at the odor wafting up from the vicinity of the little one. He promptly offered her back to Laura.

"After five children, I'm a fair expert at making the perfect bottle. Why don't I—"

"Olivia's _very_ picky when it comes to her bottle," Laura fibbed, pretending not to notice he was attempting to hand her Olivia back. "If not the perfect temperature, she'll refuse it and it will take us half the evening to get her to try again. Her diaper bag's next to the front door," she directed, before breezing into the house. Christos turned a stricken face on his wife.

"Helena—"

"I need to change Eirene," she refused, then stood and picked up their youngest, taking her in the house. Before he could even turn to Calista, she too stood and carried Nicco inside behind Helena. He turned to beseech her mother only to watch as she and Melina began clearing the table.

Thoroughly abandoned, at least in his mind, he trod heavily through the kitchen to the living room and picked up the bag where he'd been directed, then lay Olivia upon the couch, sliding the changing pad beneath her. He had just pulled free the adhesive tab on her diaper when the gagging began. Olivia, believing he was entertaining her, laughed and kicked her legs wildly. By the time he pulled the second tab free, his eyes were watering and he felt the familiar, and oh so dreaded, feeling of bile rising…

Only to hear the laughter of two women, then three, joining in with Olivia's. When he lifted his head, his absolute misery had Laura taking pity on him. Shooing him out of the way, she took over changing her daughter, while Melina and Helena continued to snicker.

"I should have known…" he gasped, then gagged again, "That you were behind this," he accused his little sister, before bolting for the front door where he could suck in gallons of fresh, non-pungent air into his lungs.

Which was the scene Remington and Zeth had returned home to. Christos had merely waved them off as they passed, unable to speak.

"What's wrong with Chris?" Remington inquired of the still giggling women, lifting a brow at Melina who was not only breathless, but was leaking tears she was laughing so hard.

"Di…. Diaper," Melina gasped. He looked from her to his brother, then to Olivia.

"Good Lord. Are you telling me after five children he still gets ill whilst changing a nappy?" She nodded her head vigorously, gulping for air herself and trying to calm down. His eyes traveled to Laura. "And you knew about this?" he guessed. She nodded, tossing him an unrepentant grin.

"It was Melina's idea," she offered, getting into the spirit of tossing siblings to the sharks. That only pitched Melina into another fit of laughter. With a shake of his head, he directed his focus on his wife.

"I think it might be time we take our leave, so we can get Olivia home to bed, hmm?" A little trickle of excitement raced down Laura's spine as she recalled they truly did have a home here on this enchanting island, amongst this amazing family, nestled into the side of the caldebra, and with which Remington had gifted her.

"You're right. I hadn't realized how late it is," she agreed, handing him Olivia so that she could dispose of her diaper.

"Let's say our goodbyes then, eh?" Olivia nestled her head down on her father's shoulder, shoving two fingers into her mouth and suckling on them.

By the time they'd said goodbye to the myriad of siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles, nearly thirty minutes had passed, and it was well after nine when they arrived at the small, two-bedroom house where Remington had spent too brief a time during his childhood. Much to their surprise, they found a porta-crib or playpen hadn't been left in residence for them, as they had asked, but instead, the bed of Melina's youth had been removed from the children's room, and a full-sized crib, equipped with mobile, bedding and a quilt hanging over the rail awaited their little girl. And in the master bedroom? Small as the room might be, someone had managed to install a rocking chair into one corner of the room.

"Your family thinks of everything, don't they?" she mused aloud. Remington pursed his lips and nodded his head.

"When it comes to family, no stone is left unturned," he concurred.

While Laura went through Olivia's nighttime routine, he dove into the shower, managing to return to their room just as she closed her copy of Robert Louis Stevenson's _Garden of Verses,_ and began to sing that night's selection of a lullaby. Oh, she had a stash in her pocket that she might pull out at any given time ranging from _Brahm's Lullaby_ to _Suo-Gan_ , and, in truth, it was one of the highlights of his day, listening as her soft soprano lulled their child to sleep. But her choice on this night stunned him, and left her winking in his direction.

" _Over in Killarney, many years ago  
My mother sang a song to me  
In tones so sweet and low  
Just a simple little ditty  
In her good old Irish way.  
And I'd give the world if she could sing  
That song to me this day."_

It was, for him, one of the most poignant moments in his life to date, listening to his wife sing to their child the Irish Lullaby, a song that might have been sung to him by his own mother had life turned out differently. And she knew it too, he recognized, as her eyes flicked between their child and him throughout the song. Her actions were letting him know, it was as much a gift to him as it was a song to send their child into blissful sleep.

When she joined him in bed after putting Olivia down and preparing for bed herself, he pulled her bit tighter to himself than normal.

"Thank you," he murmured simply against her ear. She wriggled around to face him, lying the fingertips of a hand against his cheek.

"A belated Father's Day gift," she explained quietly. "I'd like to think Olivia will grow up not only learning Gaelic at her father's hand, but surrounded with as many of the traditions of your heritage as we can provide." He pressed his lips hard against her forehead, nodding.

"Ah, Laura, what am I going to do with you?" he asked gruffly. She gave him a dazzling smile accompanied by a playful lift of her brows.

"Don't you know?" A wide smile painted his face as his lips descended to meet hers.

"I will, love, I will," he vowed, against her lips, then captured hers in a torrid kiss.


	12. Chapter 11: Anniversary & Baptism

Chapter 11: Anniversary & Baptism

When Laura woke Friday morning, she found the house empty. She recalled, clearly, hearing Olivia wake, calling out for her DaDa, who'd subsequently pulled his lanky frame from the warmth of their bed to answer his child's demands. She recalled, too, Remington's quiet murmurs as he'd seemed to be changing Olivia's diaper and getting her dressed for the day. After that? Nothing. Not that it was unusual for her to wake on a weekend morning to find the pair of them gone, normally on a trip to the market. A note found, today, by the coffee maker confirmed her husband had whisked their daughter way to run errands.

She stood in the kitchen nursing her second cup of coffee an hour later, already having showered and dressed for the day, when the front door swung open and the man of the hour strolled in the house, a brown paper bag in arm signifying a trip to the market. Setting the bag on the kitchen counter, he slipped an arm around her waist and dropped a kiss on her lips. He commenced unpacking the grocery bag while she looked on, waiting.

"Aren't you missing something?" she finally huffed. He looked in the bag then in the refrigerator, wondering to what she was referring.

"What might that be?" When her eyes widened and her mouth fell open, it clicked. "Ah, the babe. She's staying with Melina and Elena today, while you and I…" he wrapped an arm around her waist again, and pulling her close, wagged his brows at her, "… enjoy a day to ourselves on the boat." Her face lit up at the idea.

"The boat?" Pursing his lips, he nodded his head then grinned.

"Where better to spend the day of our second anniversary than where we spent the night of our wedding, hmmmm?"

For a woman that was beyond fashionably late when it came to personal matters, more often than not, Laura was ready in record time. Unlike the two times past, Remington took them out to sea, dropping anchor only when nary a dot of land was in sight. They made the most of their privacy, frolicking in the Aegean wearing not so much as a stitch of clothing between them and making slow, leisurely love topside on the boat, only to dive back into the Aegean to flirt and play some more. Lunch was a simple affair of French Bread, cheeses and fruits, chased with a simple and classic ice water.

After their meal was complete and everything was repacked into the picnic basket, they retrieved one another's gifts then stretched out on the bow, facing each other.

"Ladies first, hmm?" he suggested, holding out a manila envelope to her. She laughed softly.

"Why is it our gifts to one another so often come in envelopes?" she wondered, bemused, as she held up an envelope of her own. Laying it down, she slipped a finger under the flap of the envelope and opened it, extracting the papers… and pictures. Her eyes widened as she looked through the contents. "A sailboat? You bought me a sailboat?" He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders while smiling at her.

"More along the lines of us," he gestured back and forth between them with his free hand. "An enjoyable afternoon's pursuit for just you and I, at least for now, until Olivia's a bit older." She gave him a wry look.

"I seem to recall you angling for a sailboat two, three years ago," she reflected.

"For very much the same reason: to spend time alone together," he argued. "Think of it as a reminder, if you must, of one of your stipulations to parenthood." She barked a laugh.

"Oh, this should be good," she commented drily. "By all means, explain that little gem."

"That you and I… this," he leaned in and gave her a kiss, "Must come first. What better way than an afternoon sailing over the sparkling waters…" he wagged his brows at her, "…skinny dipping in the Pacific, sailing under a starlit sky, hmmm?" She imagined the scenarios he proposed, then touched her lips to his.

"Alright, you've convinced me," she announced then sat up, to look more attentively at the papers and pictures. "So, how much did this little venture set us back?" He pushed himself up to sit by her side.

"Weasel had a line on someone in a bit a trouble. It's a year old, has barely seen the water, and I picked it up for a song," he explained. "The J35 is considered top of the line." He thumbed through the papers and pulled out the spec sheet. "It has a full accommodation plan on the interior: refrigerator, stove, kitchen sink with tank, a real head with holding tank, a forward vee berth for sleeping, salon with additional sleeping and the back home. Thirty-five-and-a-half feet in length, beam of eleven-ten and a six-eleven keel. Built for comfort, but will hold her own in any race." She silently admitted she was impressed, but aloud she said…

"She'll need a name." He nodded.

"I have one in mind, should it meet your approval, of course." She looked at him with open curiosity.

"And that might be?" He gave her a crooked smile.

"The very words you used when first you invited me to go to Acapulco with you," he hinted. She searched her brain, smiling when she found the answer.

"Steal away with me," she recalled, warmth coloring her words as she remembered the moment fondly.

"Mmmm. But with a bit of a twist…" A dimple flashed when her sharp mind quickly caught on.

"S-T-E-E-L-E?" He nodded, smile widening. "I love it. _Steele Away with Me_ it is." She handed him the envelope meant for him. "Your turn." As with the trappings of any gift, he quickly tore open and cast aside the envelope then stared at the picture he held in hand, bewildered. "It's the first post-war release of Luigi Fogli's _Casablanca_ movie poster, circa 1946, signed by Bogart, Bergman and Rains." When he stared at her in disbelief, she confirmed, "It should be hanging in your screening room, even as we speak." He scrubbed at his face with his hand, his eyes flicking from her back to the picture.

"How?... Where?..." he stuttered. Her laughter floated in the air around them.

"The great Remington Steele rendered speechless? I'll have to mark this on my calendar," she teased. When she realized her ever sentimental husband was truly stunned by the gift, she turned serious. "There was an article in the LA Times several months ago which touted post-war Italian movie posters as being far superior to American ones in that same time period. It turns out there was only one of this particular poster still in existence, as far as is known and to be signed as well? I put George Mulch on it, given his contracts within the industry, paid him to locate it then to negotiate for its procurement." He rubbed at his mouth again while nodding, then lifted his eyes away from the picture to meet with hers.

"You are truly a remarkable woman, Laura," he told her by way of a thank you. Setting the picture aside, he lay back, then gave her hand a tug. She accepted the invitation for what it was, and stretched out on her side, nestling against him and settling her head in that spot just beneath his shoulder. His hand lazily stroked her arm, as he settled his other arm over his eyes, intent on napping.

"Two years," she murmured pensively, after some time had passed.

"Mmm. Doesn't feel like it, does it?" Her fingers absently whispered patterns across his chest.

"For the most part…" she drawled, a mischievous glint in her eyes he couldn't see. His brows drew together beneath his arm, not particularly satisfied with that response.

"Care to elaborate?" he prodded. She shrugged a shoulder against him.

"Well," she drew out the word again, "There _was_ a time when you would have been unable to resist me, only wrapped in a towel." She shrugged again, then tossed down the gauntlet. "But I suppose, you _are_ an _old_ , married man now, so—"

She didn't have an opportunity to finish the sentence, the words breaking off into gales of laughter, when he simultaneously flipped her to her back, and with the flick of a single finger, released the precarious knot holding her towel in place.

" _Old,_ Mrs. Steele," he repeated, feigning offense, as he settled between her legs and brushed her hair back over her shoulder. "I'll show you old…" he warned.

He took his time of it, utilizing every skill he'd gathered, until her body was twitching with need and each new glancing touch of those long, elegant fingers against her bare skin, each wet trail left by the tip of his tongue, every kiss and nibble, left her moaning aloud or groaning his name. She thought she might die from the exquisite pleasure of it all, if he didn't press on. At long last, he finally settled between her legs again – while she thanked the stars that he didn't assume she'd have the fortitude of taking charge – and positioned the tip of his heavy erection at her entrance. Still, determined to drive her mad, he made no attempts to enter her, instead bracing himself on an elbow, looking down at her while his fingertips traced a cheek.

"I love you, Laura." All thoughts of her rampaging desire were forgotten, as she stared up at him, her brows knitting in concern. She dragged her fingers through his hair, not smiling as she normally would when he unconsciously leaned his head into her touch. For a man who struggled mightily with those three words, for him to say them twice in less than a month's span of time didn't leave her feeling comforted, safe, but instead set off alarms.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, worry threading her words. He cocked his head further to the side, resting it more heavily against her hand. Certainly, her question wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting. It was now his brows' turn to furrow.

"Why do you ask?"

"For someone words don't come easily to, this is twice in two weeks," she answered honestly. A crooked grin lit his face.

"Perhaps because the words no longer hold any risk, only promise, eh?" he hypothesized. She tilted her head, curiosity piqued.

"What do you mean?" He leaned down and peppered her face with soft touches of his lips as he spoke.

"You, us, our home, our family, our life. It's real." She swallowed hard, and blinked her eyes against the tears that threatened, as understanding sank in.

"You finally believe providence won't take it away," she managed to whisper. His lips wandered over hers as he spoke.

"No. I know if she tries, neither of us will allow it to happen," he corrected. She threaded her fingers through his hair again, easing his head back so she could look him in the eyes.

"You're right, _we won't_ ," she promised. Clearing the lump from his throat that had roosted there in response to her determined decree, he nodded his head. She clasped his cheeks in her hands. "I love you, Remington." He closed his eyes and savored the words, then with a thrust of his hips, entered her, enshrouding himself in her welcoming warmth.

* * *

They'd overslept. That was the long and short of it. A morning and afternoon of vigorous play in the water, interspersed with making love, the sun's warm rays beating down on their bare skin, the gentle rocking of the boat, and their bodies pressed against one another had conspired against them. As soon as her eyes had blinked open, Laura had known by the position of the sun on the horizon that hours had passed since they'd fallen asleep. Sitting up, she prodded Remington vigorously, until he groaned his opposition to the manner in which she'd awakened him.

"What time is it?" she demanded to know, simultaneously standing and wrapping the towel around herself before scrambling towards their folded clothes and his watch. "Oh, God," she bemoaned, when she saw it was closing in on four o'clock.

"What? What is it?" he demanded, standing automatically as she dropped the towel and scrambled to get dressed.

" _Confession_ ," she hissed. "And we're going to be late."

Without another word, he joined her in tossing on his clothes.

* * *

Laura said a short prayer of Thanksgiving that neither she nor Remington were inclined toward dressing carelessly, even on days such as this when they'd gone for casual comfort. When they stopped at the doors of the church to draw in a deep breath for fortitude, she absently brushed at non-existent lint on his shoulder, while mentally giving them a once over. It wasn't how she'd intended to dress for this meeting, but they would do, she decided, assessing her flowing, white wrap around dress and his pair of tan slacks and loose white shirt. Island casual. Surely Ioseph couldn't find anything insulting in that. Right?

In the end, their appearance mattered little, for Ioseph, as Remington had predicted, was determined to exact his pound of flesh. After they'd confessed to a couple of white lies they'd each told in the year past and a B&E in the course of their work, he'd lowered the hammer with a supercilious smirk, and they'd had no choice but to take their penance with a proper showing of deference. Laura had been a in fine mood the rest of the evening, muttering often under her breath and stomping about. In the end, Remington had stopped any attempts to mollify her, as unsuccessful as they were, with reminders that what truly mattered was Olivia's Baptism would take place on Sunday, which was their goal straight along.

Sunday morning dawned bright and clear, and Laura's mood had rebounded, as their small family had first breakfasted together, then she and Remington had played with Olivia throughout the morning until it was time for church. In fact, her spirits were high when, after the service, they entered the church anteroom, where she would dress Olivia for the holy sacrament.

"I still don't see why you insisted her Baptism be held here, of all places. If you didn't wish to have her Baptized in Los Angeles, dear, my church in Connecticut is lovely and—" Laura's back stiffened, as it had any number of times in the past months when this particular discussion arose, and it took all her focus to keep smiling for the sake of the small daughter she was dressing.

"As I've explained before, Mother," she answered in a sing-song voice meant to keep Olivia entertained, and had been put to much use the last twenty-four hours after Abigail – as well as Thomas and Catherine – had arrived in preparation of the ceremony, "It's easier for the six of us to travel here, than it is for the eighteen of them to travel to LA."

"That may well be, but if Frances and Donald were the godparents, as they should be, then—" Laura huffed out a short breath, battling for patience.

"Frances and Donald will be Olivia's guardians should anything happen to us," she reminded her mother. "It's just as important that Remington's family be involved, and you couldn't ask for better—"

"Laura, where on earth did you get that gown from?" Abigail interrupted again. "The one I sent to you was far more appropriate… practical." Laura heaved a woebegone sigh. Her mother had, indeed, sent a gown, a simple cotton gown that Olivia would have likely worn if not for…

"Adelaide, the head cook at Ashford, made this for Olivia. I could hardly refuse it after all the work she put into it." She fingered the carefully crafted white gown, with its satin under gown and Irish lace overlay. The craftsmanship of the piece was simply magnificent, and her tiny daughter looked absolutely precious, in her opinion. "Besides, it's not only beautiful, it's a piece of Remington's homeland, a dress that Olivia can pass down to her own child."

"As could the one I sent her," Abigail argued. "After all, dear, its simplicity makes it timeless. It will never go out—"

" _Mother, please!_ " Laura ground out, voice rising, as any vestige of patience remaining took its leave.

"Abigail," Remington called jovially to his mother-in-law. When he'd entered the room, he'd assessed in a heartbeat that Laura was at her wit's end. "Father Ioseph has called for everyone to take their seats. Perhaps you'd allow my cousin Stavros to accompany you to your seat, hmmmm?" Abigail fairly glowed with her son-in-law's appearance, lifting her face in his direction. Dutifully, he bent down and bussed both her cheeks.

"I really don't wish to be a bother," she feigned indecision.

"Nonsense. You're never any such thing," he dismissed. "In fact, my Father and Catherin had hoped you might sit with them."

"Well, if they asked—" she agreed, taking Stavros's offered arm and departing the room. Remington closed the door behind them, then crossed the room to lean over their little one as Laura put on her bonnet.

"Absolutely beautiful," he hummed. She turned her head and beamed at him.

"She is, isn't she?" she asked, not bothering to conceal her pride. Picking up the baby, he looked his wife up and down.

"I wasn't speaking of Olivia, although certainly the description applies." He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. "You're beautiful, Laura." And she was. She wore a simple white suit dress, that nipped in at the waist, showing off her slim figure to its full advantage. White silk stocking, white heels and her hair pulled back into a French braid, knotted off with a white bow completed the ensemble. She was confident in how she looked, but still her eyes sparkled and she flashed a dimple at the compliment.

"You're not so bad yourself, Mr. Steele," she returned, brushing off the lapels of his light beige suit and fingering the matching tie, as though to smooth it. He held out an arm to her.

"Shall we?" She slipped her hand through his arm, smiling as he accompanied her from the room.

The ceremony was lovely, planned down to the last detail by Elena and Ioseph, including the attire of the godparents which matched what Laura and Remington wore. But the favorite moment, by far, came at the very start of it.

"Welcome to each of you," Ioseph began, addressing those congregating in the pews before him. "I am Father Ioseph, and we're here today to participate in this Baptism Ceremony, and to give thanks and celebrate our joy in the arrival of a precious child. Laura and Xenos want to share their joy with you and they look forward to your continuing involvement in their child's life in the years ahead. They are also aware of the great responsibility that is now theirs. A great deal of their lives will be involved in caring for their child and guiding her through the many paths of life." He turned to face Laura and Remington. "What name do you give your child?"

"Olivia _Elena_ Steele," the couple answered in unison, enunciating the middle name as his eyes lay upon Elena, who was seated in the front row. Thus far, they'd made not a single mention of Olivia's middle name to anyone in the Androkus family, hoping to surprise Elena in this moment. If her gasp, the way her hand flew to her mouth and how she looked at Marcos with tears spilling over the rims of her eyes was any indication, they'd not only surprised but had supremely touched the woman who'd mothered him briefly during his youth.

The party afterwards rivaled any welcome they'd received, even their wedding reception, with every Androkus family member from across the island making an appearance and dropping an envelope in the silver bowl placed in the center of the refreshment table. They'd barely been able to spend any time together, one or the other of them being pulled away by this cousin or that great aunt, and as for their child? Well, between Melina, Elena, Marcos, her new Godparents, Abigail, Thomas and Catherine, her parents had barely managed to steal two minutes of time with her during the six-hour celebration. Not that Olivia seemed to mind, as she was in her glory, being the center of all that attention.

Elena had finally managed to find Remington and Laura standing together as the party began to wear down, and she'd pulled first one, then the other, into her arms, smothering their faces with kisses. Marcos had stood back and watched, hands in his pockets, eyes fairly twinkling, as they'd attempted to edge themselves away from the woman, both of their skins pinkening due to the open display of affection.

"You honor me so, my Xenos..." She lay a hand against his cheek, "…My Lara..." Her other hand against Laura's. "Never has anything meant so much to me, as to have my boy's child named for me."

"Olivia was the name of the most important woman in my life as a child - my grandmother," Laura explained.

"Whereas you were the most important woman of my own," Remington added. Tears filled the older woman's eyes as she cupped both his cheeks in her hands.

"Always such a good boy, my Xenos," she praised, then pulled his head down to her shoulder and wrapped her arms around him – a mighty feet as he stood well more than a foot taller than her – and freely wept.

Laura turned her head away and lifted her face towards the ceiling, blinking rapidly, at the display of love he'd once had as a child, then had lost believing he'd soon be sent on his way. Remington patted Elena's back and squirmed, thoroughly discomfited by the mother-figure he adored crying in his arms. Marcos finally stepped in and eased his wife away.

"Come, Elena, let's see to our other guests, eh?"

Remington reached for Laura's hand, tangling their fingers together, fighting, she knew for control over his own dubious emotions.

They made it through the remainder of the evening, as brief as it was, without further emotional confrontations, for which he was supremely thankful, uncertain if he would bear up if faced with another. Within an hour of bidding their final adieus for the evening, they stood next to the crib, watching over their sleeping child, Remington's arm slung lightly about Laura's waist, her head resting against his shoulder. She lifted Olivia's lax hand, and fingered the delicate bracelet hanging at her wrist, her baptismal gift from her godparents.

"I had no idea they made ID bracelets so small," she murmured quietly. The bracelet, they'd both recognized at once, had been a nod to the one he wore each day, once a reminder that he was a man without a name, now a reminder of all that he had. On one side, the bracelet had been engraved with a cross and the babe's first name, while on the other… "Proverbs 1:8-9. Any idea what it says?"

"Mmmm," he nodded his head, then told her thoughtfully, "It's a verse we were oft reminded of as children. 'Hear, my child, your father's instruction, and forsake not your mother's teaching, for they are a graceful garland for your head and pendants for your neck.'"

"Wisdom and respect," she summarized, oddly touched by the sentiment. "It's a lovely thought, isn't it?" She slanted her eyes upwards to his face. "Think we're up to the task of instilling both in her?" He nuzzled his cheek against the top of her head.

"Only time will tell," he answered, sagely. "But as a betting man, I'm all in that we are, so long as you're leading the way." She shifted slightly in his arm and pressed her lips against his neck, before smiling up at him.

"Only time will tell," she agreed.


	13. Chapter 12: Flexing Testosterone

Chapter 12: Flexing Testosterone

 _January 26, 1991_

"I wanna see! I wanna see, Da!" Olivia demanded excitedly, grasping the edge of the kitchen island and hopping up and down, trying to see over the edge. Remington smiled down at the exuberant three-year old and easily lifted her up to perch on the counter, much as her mother still often did during meal preparations.

"There you are, Livvie Bee." He gave her the once over, then tapped her on her nose, evoking a giggle from the little girl. "Now, if I recall, weren't you to be getting ready for Mommy's party, weren't you?" Olivia crossed her arms, lifted her chin and scowled – an affectation much like her mother's.

"Thea Lina's _mean_!" she declared, drawing out the last word to emphasize the fact. He smiled indulgently, his hands never missing a beat as he continued to slice the tomato before him. These days, anytime an adult didn't cede immediately to his young daughter's strong will, they were deemed to be 'mean.'

"Oh? And what is it that Thea Lina's done this time, hmmm?" he inquired.

"I won't allow her to wear her bikini to the party," Melina supplied the answer, as she entered the kitchen in search of her runaway niece. She ignored the tongue the little girl stuck out at her, and snitched a slice of tomato, taking a bite. He playfully smacked at her hand.

"Between you and Laura, it's a wonder I ever get enough food prepped to make a meal," he groused lightly, before turning his attention to his daughter. "It's far too cool out to be wearing your swimsuit, mo stór." He lifted a brow at her. "Mommy would be terribly upset if you were to catch a cold on account of her birthday. We wouldn't want that, now would we?" Olivia's eyes widened.

"That would make Mommy sad," she accessed, accurately. He nodded his agreement as he reached for the next tomato.

"That it would," he agreed, solemnly. "So how 'bout you go back up to your room with Thea Lina and let her help you put on the dress and tights you and I picked out, just for Mommy's birthday, eh?" She nodded eagerly, then waited as he wiped his hands on his apron, before picking her up and setting her back down on her feet.

"C'mon, Thea Lina," she called behind her, as she skipped across the dining room towards the living room.

"Quietly," he admonished. "Mommy's asleep and we don't want to wake her. She needs her rest!" With a smile at her big brother, Melina left to give chase to the little whirlwind, while he returned to the task at hand.

Laura would turn thirty-five on Monday, and in honor of that milestone, they were hosting a barbeque, an occasion she wasn't particularly looking forward to.

"I don't want a party," she'd retorted peevishly, crossing her arms and tipping up her chin. "I just want a quiet night at home with my family, is that too much to ask?"

"Well, yes. Yes, it is," he'd answered. "There's been far too much whispering going on between Mildred and Bernice, too many sudden silences when one or the other of us walk into a room when they're left alone together. The simple fact is, either we make an announcement, and quickly, that we're hosting a birthday affair of our own, or you can reconcile yourself to the fact there is a surprise party awaiting you in the near future."

Well, with those as the only choices at her disposal, she'd opted for the former, with the codicil that _their_ celebration be a barbeque – a good, old fashioned, _American_ , barbeque. In _January_. No small amount of punishing the messenger in that, for certain, as barbeques on fine summer days were all good and well, but in the middle of the winter? Thankfully, today the high was near eighty, which meant it wouldn't dip too far down into the sixties before the end of the gathering. Not warm enough to swim, certainly, but not so cold as to bring back memories of the winter nights of his youth, either.

Finished slicing the tomatoes, he set the platter in the refrigerator, then cleaned knife and counters, before journeying upstairs to wake his bride. The soft murmuring coming from Olivia's room, served as a reminder of all the changes they'd faced the last six months, with yet more to come.

Melina had arrived two days after Christmas, quite unexpectedly, having run away from home as it were… well, if a woman approaching thirty could do such a thing. Nevertheless, there she had stood on their front doorstep, bags in hand, asking if she might stay a spell… then had hidden away in the guest bedroom for two full days, before Laura had managed to pry her out of the room then finesse from her the story of what had brought her there. After nearly three years of dating Giorgos Demetriou and six months speaking of marriage and a future together, she'd been expecting to announce an engagement over Christmas. Instead, she found herself firmly dumped.

"He… he… he said," she stumbled around her tears, "Maybe our age difference was just too much. That.. that… he was ready to settle down. That he'd grown weary of travel. That… that… I wasn't prepared to be wi… wife and mother. I'm… I'm… too loud, too outspoken, too… too free… free-spirited, too… flighty, not… not serious enough. He… he needs someone more sen… sensible, dependable, who… who he wouldn't have to worry might em… em… embarrass him," she wailed the last.

He'd heard the whole of it from the kitchen, having kept his ear peeled, so to speak, and saw red. It was Wilson and Laura all over again. The time invested. The belief she'd been loved. The expectations of a future. Only to see it all end, while the one walking away made it clear, 'it's not me, but you.' He once again thanked the stars above for the Androkus family, for at least Lina came from a firm foundation, had not been already left injured by the very person that should have protected her absolutely.

So, a month later, here she remained, uncertain of where her future lay, but needing time and distance to figure things out.

An additional person in the household wasn't the only change, for the Agency was undergoing a transformation once again. Brandon, Zack and Marvin had completed their licensure requirements over the summer, and were now fully-fledged investigators. While licensing had opened a door of opportunity for them to work anywhere they wished, even to start their own Agency, all three men were uninterested in moving on, enjoying their job, their bosses and the family like atmosphere. With a salary adjustment to reflect their new positions in the Agency, Marvin and Zack moved out of the Agency owned condos and into a place of their own. The situation was far more complicated for Brandon. His mother had succumbed to pneumonia, an offshoot of the AIDS she'd contracted years prior, leaving him to finish raising his baby sister, Kaya. He was loathe to uproot her in the same year span when she'd lost her mother, and had negotiated a long-term lease with Remington, paying fair market value in rent.

Demand for the Agency's services had only increased across the years and the workload had once again moved from manageable to weighty, with the entire staff, including the owners, working well past closing time most evenings. This meant on several evenings a week, Olivia would be there from the time she woke until the time she went to bed, a simply unacceptable situation in both her parents' eyes. She needed quality time with them, her routine. While there was much they were willing to sacrifice for the Agency they'd painstakingly built, what was best for their daughter was not amongst those things.

Thus, this past August they'd hired three new apprentices, and much to Laura's delight, two of those investigators-in-training were women.

Kiara Warmack had graduated from UCLA two years prior with a degree in criminal justice, much like Zack, and had considered, for a time, joining the LAPD. But growing up in East Compton as she had, there was an innate distrust with law enforcement, yet she still wished to serve the greater good, in honor of her brother Rudy – the young man killed in Remington's hallway during the Shane case. She had come to the Agency by way of recommendation from Monroe and the Steele's had been instantly impressed by her forthrightness, resiliency and icy calm demeanor. She'd been assigned to partner with Zack, initially, working primarily on the investigative side.

Of course, the fact Kiara was a UCLA alum had left Laura mumbling about damned Bruins outnumbering Cardinals in her own Agency.

Briana "BB" Bishop was a tall, blonde, voluptuous, sloe-eyed blonde, whom at one time would have left Laura feeling simultaneously insecure and threatened, as the woman was the epitome of what was formerly Remington's 'type'... well, except for the fact she wasn't vacuous, as many of the women who'd come through the office those first weeks had been. Remarkably secure in her husband's devotion, she'd never batted an eye, although she had allowed herself a moment of revelry when the woman's resume announced she'd graduated from Stanford where she'd majored in Mathematics… and then had stopped to groan when she'd read the woman's minor: Film and media studies. _Damn, damn and double damn. Another film buff in the Agency? One is too many most days,_ she'd silently lamented to herself. During her interview, BB had reluctantly confessed to being a single parent to a six-year-old boy named Nathan, whom she'd had right after her Freshman year. Too often in the past she'd found that if she managed to overcome the strikes of being a woman, and a beautiful one that most wives wouldn't want working with their husband morning and night, then the news she was a single mother was the death knell. The only altering of the Steele's perspective was a note scribbled on a pad which stated: _Minimum two bedrooms. School district?_ He'd be house hunting again as their only associate dedicated property which was suitable for a family was being retained by Brandon. BB's assignment was a natural outcome of her education: she would work with Marvin and Mildred in the white-collar crimes leg of the Agency.

Finally, there was Thomas Celek. Thirty years old, much like Remington himself was when he'd arrived at the Agency, Celek stood at six-four and while slim, there was a definition to his muscles that was undeniable. With wavy brown hair, brown eyes, deeply tanned skin and sporting a mustache, as he'd entered Remington's office, Laura and Bernice had shared a glance of unhidden appreciation, much as they had when Ben Pierson arrived at the Agency nearly nine years before and faux-fanned themselves after his departure.

"Tom Celek, indeed," Laura mused, when the man was no longer in sight in the hallway.

"Oh, yeah," her friend and secretary all but purred. "All that's missing is the Ferrari and house on Oahu. If I weren't married…"

"Don't you know it," Laura agreed.

Remington, having observed the look shared between his wife and Mrs. Wolf at Celek's arrival, was instantly on guard. A fact Laura had found amusing until…

"I'd like you to meet my _wife_ , Laura Steele." At that, the icy calm mask was put firmly in place as her temper soared.

Celek, in part due to his age, arrived with a much more diverse resume than their other two new hires. He'd attended Penn State on a full football scholarship, where he was part of the 1982 national championship team. He'd left college after his junior year, having declared for the NFL draft, and was selected second round by the Miami Dolphins. After three seasons, ending his career with the San Francisco 49'ers, he'd parted ways with football once and for all. He returned to college, earning a Bachelor's Degree in Rehabilitation and Human Services, then followed that with a three year stint as a Social Worker, a job in which he often saw the worst of humanity and was left feeling helpless, as the law so often bound his hands preventing him from truly affecting change. So, he changed what he could, instead: his career. To him, becoming a P.I. would allow him to stop the injury to another person before it happened, or would permit him to give justice a helping hand after it had.

Laura had hired him on the spot, for which she received a scathing look from her partner that she easily interpreted as 'what happened to us deciding these matters together?'

After seeing Celek out and exchanging those brief words with Bernice, she winced but otherwise ignored the resounding slam of Remington's door, as she stepped into Mildred's office where Olivia was sitting in a chair across from her 'Auntie', elevated by a stack of phone books beneath her, coloring on the paper she'd been provided. Seeing her mother enter the office, she waved her hand then returned to her coloring.

"Mildred, would you mind keeping her with you for a bit longer? _Mr. Steele_ and I need to have a word… alone." The older woman gave her a knowing look, quickly picking up on the way she'd said the Boss's name, that it would be far more than 'just a word.'

"Sure, honey. I don't think she's quite finished with my picture yet anyway." Nodding, Laura stooped down next to Olivia chair so she was on eye level with her little girl.

"Livvie, Mommy has just a couple more things to take care of, then I was thinking maybe you and I would take our lunch outside and eat it by the fountain. What do you think?"

"Will you bring pennies?" Laura laughed softly at the question.

"A whole handful, I promise," she vowed.

"Okay, Mommy." Pressing a kiss to her daughter's forehead, she stood and left the office, closing the door behind her, lest she hear what was to come.

She dropped all pretense of a sunny demeanor behind as she stomped across the reception area and into Remington's office and slammed the door behind her. He visibly jumped from where he was sitting at his desk, cheek resting against a fisted hand, clearly pouting.

"Would you mind telling me what _that_ was about!?" she demanded to know.

"I was about to ask you the same thing. I thought we were part—" She waved her hand dismissively and cut him off.

"I mean the way you introduced me to Celek!" He gave thought to pretending to have no idea what she was speaking about, but dismissed the idea. He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach.

"You're Laura Steele, are you not? Or have you suddenly been inspired to revert back to Laura Holt?" Her lips part in shock at _that._ "And, the last time I checked, you _are_ my wife. Is there a particular reason we shouldn't disclose that?" Her jaw slackened and her mouth fell open. Thoroughly stupefied, it took her a long second to gather her wits.

"You've lost your mind," she surmised incredulously, shaking her head and flicking a hand in his general direction. Standing, he rounded the desk and leaned his backside against it, crossing his arms and assessing her at length.

"Have I?" he challenged.

"Yes!" she answered without hesitation.

"I would disagree. I'd say my sanity is as sound as my eyesight is sharp and my hearing is keen." She lifted her face to the ceiling and forced herself to count to ten. _One…Two…_

"Oh, for God's—" she left the last unspoken, her voice rising with the next. "I admired an attractive man. So, what!?" She flung out her arms for emphasis. "How often do you admire a woman's breasts, her figure, her backside, when you're with me? How often do you _flirt_ with other women when I'm standing right there? When you do, do you see me acting like an adolescent about it?! No! You don't. Look, don't touch, isn't that the general rule of thumb in an _adult_ relationship?"

"I see. So the fact my _wife_ is attracted to another man should be of no concern to me at all then?" he challenged. "Good to know. Then I shan't have to worry you'll be put out over my attraction to Miss Bishop." He gesticulated with his hand. "Goose, gander and all that, hmmm?" He knew when he saw the flash of hurt cross her face to be replaced by the implacable mask she wore to protect herself that he'd gone too far.

Without a word, Laura crossed his office and opened the door to their adjoining break room and the nursery. Fishing through the small fridge kept there, she removed Olivia's lunch, then retrieved her purse from her own office. His brows drew together questioningly. When she disappeared from view and he heard the soft click of her door as it shut, he drew a hand through his hair.

She'd arrived home with Olivia that evening in time for supper. She was cordial for their daughter's sake, almost excessively so, and they'd carried out Olivia's bedtime ritual together, as they always did. But when they shut her door until it only remained a crack, Laura turned towards their bedroom, instead of towards the staircase as was their habit.

"Laura—" he began only for her to shake her head without turning around and cutting him off.

"I can't talk to you right now. I'm going to take a bath."

"Would you like some company?" The response had been automatic, after many years of such an exchange and their mutual enjoyment of relaxing together in a hot tub as the water roiled around them.

"Love some," she replied still not looking at him. Nonetheless his lips lifted in a smile, believing he'd been forgiven, until she added, "But I doubt Celek could be here before the bathwater cools." He winced and stumbled to a stop. Clearly, forgiveness was not yet in the offing, confirmed when she came downstairs an hour later into his screening room, wordlessly dropping pillow and blanket on the couch next to him, then retreating back upstairs. He spent two nights on that couch and two days not hearing her lovely voice unless it was in the course of work or to continue the farce of marital harmony in front of their little girl. By the time the sun had sank on the horizon of the third night, he'd accepted only genuine repentance would heal the rift between them.

"Laura, I'm sorry," he told her quietly, hovering in the doorway to their room. She stilled, back to him, from where she was putting away laundry in her dresser.

"Oh, and what exactly are you sorry for?" she asked, voice as unemotional as if she were asking about the weather.

"Laura." Just her name, uttered with considerable difficulty. She turned around, crossed her arms.

"You were jealous." Despite the accusation, her tone remained unchanged. Now he did face her, to give her a pained looked. "Do you know what the problem is with jealousy, Remington? It indicates a lack of _trust_ —" Alarmed blue eyes flew to her.

"Laura, I—" She held up a hand and cut him off.

"No! I think _you've_ said enough, don't you?" She lost the icy calm rein over her emotions, her voice crackling with anger. "The only reason Celek could possibly be a _threat to you_ is because on some level you believe I might respond to any advances that he might be foolish enough to make, and that's _assuming_ he's even _remotely_ attracted to me!"

"That has nothing, whatsoever, to do with it!" he denied.

"Doesn't it? You said as much in your office! Then to bring BB into it?" she continued as though he'd never spoken. "How am I supposed to work with the woman after my husband has openly admitted he's lusting after her?" He visibly flinched at the question. "I accepted long ago that you're an insatiable flirt, and have even accepted you probably don't realize exactly how much so you are," she barreled on with a shake of her head and a wave of her arm. "'Laura,' I'd say to myself, 'You're an adult. It's you he's leaving with, that's all that matters.' But I've never had to work with one of those women day-in-and-day-out, wondering if you were admiring the particular cut of a certain blouse, fantasizing about…" She lifted her head to the ceiling and rubbed at her brow. He took several steps towards her, held out a beseeching hand towards her.

"Laura, I lied about the woman,'" he confessed. "I'm no more attracted to her than I am Mildred." She shook her head, never lowering it.

"Did you?' she asked wearily. That day in the office, he'd managed to revive all the insecurities she'd believed had been banished once and for all. She he wasn't his type. Eventually he'd grow bored with her. With their life. He'd seek new amusements. Eventually that old wanderlust would grip him. Then one day she'd come home and find him gone, his closets empty. "She's your type. Far more than I ever was," she said, giving those fears voice. "I can't help wondering…." She shook her head, and finally looked at him. His knees nearly buckled at seeing her eyes filled with the doubts, the fears, that he hadn't seen there in years now. Then, in a flash, she sealed herself off from him, her eyes sparking with anger again. "Do I need to be worried here, Remington? Just tell me that! Are you having second thoughts about us, this life, even as we're planning a second child?! Because I don't have it in me to explain to one child why her father disappeared, let alone two!"

He could only stare at her, as his own emotions tumbled about, collided, having no idea which matter to address first. His throat tightened, then it began. A chuckle at first – perhaps an innate attempt to relieve the tension within him. But a scant second later, he was laughing deeply, and pulling her into his arms. She struggled against him briefly, not understanding what was going on.

"Laura, only your magnificent mind could go from my being insanely jealous over your admiration for another man, to me leaving you." She managed to get her hands between them and shove him away.

"It's not funny," she retorted, dropping her hands onto her hips and holding elbows akimbo.

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He held up a hand, forcing himself to be serious. "It bears repeating; I'm _not_ attracted to Ms. Bishop, even a little bit. What I said was no more than a bit of perverted tit-for-tat," he explained. She crossed her arms, and with a shake of her head, averted her face, unconvinced. 'The only woman that is the star of my fantasies, and has been for eight years now, is a petite brunette, with a fiery temper and wild imagination. Further, I'm not in the least concerned that you'll be unfaithful. I do not care, however, to spend the next however many years watching you admire him, or _he you_. As you so aptly put it, I don't wish to wonder if you are admiring a particular cut of a jacket, if you are fantasizing—"

"It was an observation, a bit of womanly bonding between Bernice and I," she informed him. "Nothing more than we did when you first—" She stopped speaking mid-sentence, understanding dawning. He nodded at her.

"Precisely." He took several steps away, tugging at his ear. "I haven't had to compete for your admiration for going on eight years now, at least within the walls of the Agency." She winced, his comment inadvertently bringing up memories of those days after the INS. "And I don't wish to now. No more than I would want to here at home. So, yes, I broke our agreement on how you'd be viewed at the Agency, but there are simply times you need to allow me to be a man." Understanding dawned, and her lips twitched with amusement.

"Flex your testosterone. Mark your territory, so to speak?" she offered.

"Well, _yes_ ," he drew out to the second word for emphasis. "The man certainly knows where matters stand, as I've made it clear." He lifted a brow towards her. "Much the same as you would've made it known to Ms. Bishop had I expressed the slightest bit of interest, or her me."

"I understand," she informed him quietly, this time approaching him and willingly going into the embrace he offered. He wrapped his arms around her, and nuzzled his cheek against her hair.

"Are we alright, then?" he wondered, seeking assurance. She tipped back her head, allowed him to see a pair of brown eyes in which the doubt, the fear, had been replaced by the confidence which had warmed his heart these last years.

"We're are, Mr. Steele." She pressed up on her toes, brushing her lips against his, then teasing his lips, until she felt those lips beneath hers lift in a smile, and a hand bury itself in her hair, pressing her closer, as he recognized her desire to mark some territory of her own.


	14. Chapter 13: Home Life

Chapter 13: Home Life

And actually, things in the Steele household were far better than alright, Remington reflected, as he stepped into their bedroom and crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed. Neither he nor Laura had realized until a few days after they'd put the matter of Celek to rest that she was already pregnant with their second child. Now, just having entered her third trimester, her small frame was gloriously rounded, in his opinion, by the child growing within her.

Thus far, this pregnancy had been far different than the last. She hadn't suffered from morning sickness this time around, she'd shown much sooner and she'd been infused with energy from the outset. It both surprised and irritated her, on days like these when she felt the need to take a nap, for it was so outside of the norm.

 _Of course,_ he mused with a smug grin – best gotten out of the way before he woke her – _we had a very late night._

Another difference in this pregnancy, that was. While their physical relationship had remained quite active as she'd carried Olivia, it was he who'd initiated things most evenings, especially when she'd battle periodically with her self-image as she'd grown large with child. Since midway through her second trimester this time, however, it was she who'd become the aggressor, her appetite for him seemingly unable to be fully slaked. Not that he was complaining, mind you, for he still wanted her as much as he had those four long years she'd held him at bay. How could he not? He not only loved the woman to distraction, but their creativity, continued commitment to bringing each other remarkable pleasure, their passionate natures and willingness to explore their fantasies kept their sex life not only unpredictable but fresh. And the Laura of these last weeks? Most men would give up a piece of anatomy for a wife who would tug them by a tie into her office bathroom for a quick shag, take them off to Los Amantes lookout during a long 'lunch' to explore how much trouble they could find in the Jeep, to wake it the middle of the night with their wife grasping their erect shaft in her hands and a pair of mischievous brown eyes sparkling up at them right before she ran her tongue up the underside…

 _Enough of that, old sport_ , he admonished himself. _There's no time to remedy what you're doing to yourself exploring those memories._

To that end, he firmly rubbed Laura's arm, then allowed his hand to meander over her firm, rounded tummy, enjoying the feeling of their child waking inside of her as she, herself, roused. Rolling to her back, she peered up at him with blinking, sleep bleary eyes.

"What time is it?" she murmured.

"Guests will begin arriving within the hour," he provided. Bending over, he brushed her belly with his lips. "Did our little Aislin Rose allow you to rest?" She wrinkled her nose at him.

"Yes, _Holt Fitzgerald_ did," she said lifting a challenging brow in his direction.

Much like with Olivia, they'd decided upon their child's name within a week of her pregnancy being confirmed. Holt, of course, the boy's name which hadn't been needed after Olivia's birth, and Aislin Rose – Aislin for Remington's mother, and Rose in honor of Abigail's middle name. The debate over whether it would be a girl or boy was fierce and ongoing, he insisting on the little girl that would look just like Laura this time, she on a boy who'd resemble his father. After Remington had been shot, she'd dreamt of having their son after Remington had succumbed to his wounds, and she'd been enthralled with the child they'd created together. Ever since, she'd had, from time-to-time, a wistful bout of longing for the charming little boy who'd never truly existed to begin with.

"Is Livvie dressed?"

"Mmmm. She gave Lina a bit of a tussle, insisting on wearing her bikini," he shared, with a lopsided grin, "But is getting ready as we speak." She smiled in answer, then looped her arms around his neck, drawing him willingly downwards.

"In that case, we have a little while," she hummed, lifting her brows suggestively, while plucking at his hair with her fingertips. He chuckled low in his throat.

"Not for what you seem to have in mind," he dissented. "Unless, of course, you're hoping for a repeat of two week's past."

A little more than two weeks prior, Oliva had made a surprise appearance in their room in the middle of the night, as Laura and Remington had been making love – thankfully on one of the rare occasions when they'd been beneath the sheets.

"I wanna play!" the little girl had squealed joyously, not noticing when her parents had frantically separated, grabbing at the sheets to keep themselves fully covered. Laura had managed to snatch her robe from the end of the bed and slide into it discretely, plucking their squirming child off the bed before she could make it beneath the covers.

"Oh, no you don't. Back to bed with you, little Lady," she told the little girl firmly, carrying the disgruntled child from their room.

"There's always the shower," she suggested now, drawing her fingertips down his back. His back arched at the action, and he laughed again.

"We'll take care of that itch tonight, love," he gladly promised, "But for now, I'm afraid you'll have to settle for this." He leaned in and claimed her lips, teasing, suckling, then delving deep when she opened her mouth with a hum.

" _I want my Mommy to do-ed my hair!"_ their little angel's outraged screech could be heard coming from the room across the hall. Laura snickered against Remington's lips, when he first stiffened, then huffed an irritated sigh at the interruption.

"There are days I long for the gunshots," he groused, making her erupt in gales of laughter, as their daughter's furious voice reached them again.

" _No, Thea Lina!"_

"You've no one to blame for this but yourself, you know." She held out her hand to him, and he helped her sit – yet another difference in this pregnancy, she asking freely for assistance.

"Oh? And how is that?" he asked, leaning back against his elbows on the bed as she stood.

" _You_ were the one bragging about how Olivia's never hit the terrible two's," she reminded him. "You tempted fate and now look at her. I better go rescue Lina." He captured her hand before she could take a full step. She gave him a questioning look over her shoulder.

"You and I? Tonight, after our guests depart, we need to have a bit of a chat," he waggled his brows at her, " _Before_ we see to that itch, if you don't mind." She lifted her brows to him.

"Oh, is something the matter?"

"Not at all," he assured, as he sat up on the side of the bed and Olivia screeched again.

"Alright. I should-" she indicated the direction of Livvie's room with her head. He released her hand, but before she took a step, she shifted, and, leaning down, touched her lips to his. "Tonight."

Then she left the room, crossing the hall to Olivia's bedroom where she found her little daughter bright red, and tears flowing. Melina sat on the edge of Olivia's bed, a crossed leg swingig, waiting out her niece's latest temper tantrum. Laura kneeled down and took Olivia's hand, brushing her hair off her tear streaked face.

"What's going on in here, Olivia?" she asked, with a tilt of her head.

"I don't want Thea Lina to do-ed my hair," she hiccupped, wrapping her arms around her mother's neck and sniffling against her shoulder.

"So your Da and I heard. Mommy doesn't mind doing your hair, in fact, she enjoys it." She eased Olivia back to look at her sternly. "But, your Da and I have spoken to you about throwing fits and being rude when you want something, haven't we?" Nodding her head, Olivia stuck two fingers in her mouth, sucking them. Laura eased her hand away from her mouth. "What do you say to Thea Lina?" Olivia gave her mother a miserable look, but nonetheless did as directed.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, Melina," Laura offered as well. "I'll take over here," she turned her eyes meaningfully to her daughter, "And _Livvie_ and I will have a little chat while I do her hair."

"All is well," Melina assured her. "Remember, I've ten other nieces and nephews who've gone through this difficult stage. I'll just get ready, myself."

Laura took the place on the edge where Melina had been sitting, and picked up the brush before drawing Olivia to stand between her legs. She stroked the brush through the little girl's sleek, long black hair for a long minute, allowing her time to calm.

"Would you like to tell me about it?" she finally asked, voice soft.

"Thea Lina pull-did _my hair_ ," she protested. Behind her, her mother smiled, bemused.

"You say the same of me when you want your Da to do your hair," she noted.

" _Really hard_ ," Olivia persisted. Laura laughed silently at that.

"Now, I don't believe that. Could it be something else?" she asked, as she parted the little girl's hair and gathered the separated strands in her hands, beginning to braid it.

"I wanted _you_."

"Oh, _I know_ ," this time she laughed aloud. "You made that perfectly clear. Maybe next time, you could come to me and simply ask rather than being rude to Thea Lina and making such a fuss?"

" _Alright_ ," Olivia sighed dramatically, as Laura wrapped the end of the band in her hair then turned her daughter around to face her. She nodded in satisfaction.

"You're beautiful." She bussed Olivia on the cheek. "Now, go downstairs and play while Da finishes getting ready, then you can help him put the food out and greet our guests."

"Alright, Mommy," Olivia easily agreed. Shaking her head and laughing, Laura watched her daughter skip happily from the room, then stood and returned to her own room to prepare for the evening.

It wouldn't, she thanked God for the umpteenth time, be a large event. Frances, Donald and the children; Bernice, Jason and Bo; Monroe, Jocelyn and their two-and-a-half year and nineteen-month old sons; Veronica and Maxie; Murphy, Sherry and the twins, who'd shockingly accepted the invitation; Zack; Brandon and Kaya; Marvin; and Mildred, of course. Still, that meant twenty-six people milling about when all she wanted was a quiet evening with her husband and daughter.

With a woe begotten sigh, she traipsed across the bedroom to the closet and rummaged through Remington's shirts for something to wear, finally settling on an indigo, chambray dress shirt which she thought to pair with a pair of shorts. Winter it might be, but the baby growing within her provided its own heat it seemed.

And speaking of heat, the shirtless Mr. Steele standing at the sink finishing his shave, provided a whole other kind. They were closing in on five years, and she was still awed by the beauty of his physique. _And still not immune to it_ , she mused silently, as a jolt of desire coursed through her. Difficult enough to keep in check most days, with her hormones raging from the pregnancy she'd exhibited the complete lack of control he must have prayed fervently for during the first four years as they danced around one another.

She dropped shorts and shirt on the vanity and wrapped her arms around him from behind, skimming her hands up over his abdomen then his chest, while trailing a string of kisses along his back. With a throaty laugh, he tapped his razor on the side of the sink, then lay it on the counter before turning and circling her hips with his arms. A scant second later, he realized that might have been a tactical error when she sealed her lips to his collarbone, and her hands slid over his back to grasp a cheek of his firm bum in each of her hands. He closed his eyes as a shudder of pure need wracked his body. No one had ever been able to command his body at will as Laura was able. With a great deal of will, he captured her hands and stepped around her.

"As much as I'd like nothing more, we've guests arriving," he reminded her. She gave him a little smirk. She'd known he would decline, but it seemed only fair that he be on edge the rest of the evening as well. The look and its meaning didn't escape him. With a bark of laughter, he stepped back to her and bent down to press his lips to hers. "You, Mrs. Steele," he wagged a finger at her, "Have a bit of the devil in you." She grinned at him and lifted her brows, playfully.

"All's fair…" she reminded him. Laughing again, he leaned down and kissed her, then departed.

By the time Laura arrived downstairs at five before seven, most of the guests had already arrived and were circulating amongst themselves out back on the veranda and by the fireplace. The laughter of children could be heard, as it trickled back to the house from the vicinity of the play area. She and Remington had contracted last summer for a fence to be installed around the pool, then an enormous swing set, complete with four swings, teeter-totter, two slides and a fort area to be installed in the open area behind the pool. Olivia loved her swing set and Laura had not a doubt that her little girl was out there right now, trying to keep up with the big kids.

She'd no sooner stepped out onto the veranda than a familiar voice called her name.

"Laura, over here!" A smile lit her face as she followed the sound, and saw Murphy and Sherry standing over near the seating area at the fireplace.

"Hey, Murph," she greeted him warmly, easily slipping into his open arms for the hug that was offered. Bussing him on the cheek, she stepped from him, to give Sherry a fond hug as well. "Hi, Sherry. I still can't believe you came up here for this!"

"You and I celebrated your twenty-fifth together, how could I possibly miss out on your thirty-fifth?" Laura wrinkled her nose at the reminder. "Besides, Sher's parents have been bugging us for months about coming for a visit."

"The timing was perfect," Sherry agreed. "Nick and Zack had two days off for semester change, so we made a long weekend of it."

"So tell me, partner," Murphy began, while giving a pointed look at her protruding belly, "Do I need to explain to you how this keeps happening?" he teased. The corner of Laura's mouth quirked upwards, as she gave a matching look to Sherry's own rounded stomach.

"Do I need to tell _you?_ " she retorted, perkily.

"You might need to tell _me_ how he talked me into it," Sherry commented, wryly. "We've just gotten the boys off to school, and here we go again."

"You don't mean—"

"Twin boys," Murphy preened.

"Twin boys," Sherry said at the same time, shaking her head, a look of wonderment and dread on her face.

"Congratulations," Laura offered them with a wide smile, giving each another hug.

"And you?" Sherry asked. Laura shrugged a shoulder.

"We have no idea. We like not knowing until he or she arrives." Murphy laughed warmly at that.

"I don't know how you do it, Laura," he admitted. "You are one of the most insatiably curious people I know and yet you can sit back on this and just wait." She grinned at him.

"It's as Remington once said to me. Life holds so few truly wonderful surprises. This is one of them." He laughed again at that.

"Laura, if someone had told me eight years ago that you and Steele would be married nearly five years and have two kids, I would have told them they were insane."

"You're not the only one," she laughed. "Yet, here we are."

"Mmmm. Here we are," Remington agreed, as he stepped up behind her, and lay a hand at her waist. "Michaels," he offered the man his free hand and the exchanged greetings, before leaning over to buss Sherry on the cheek.

"They're having twin boys again," Laura shared, smiling back at him over her shoulder.

"Ah, better them than us, eh?"

"You know it," she confirmed.

"Not up to the job, Steele?" Murphy ribbed. Remington pursed his lips and shook his head.

"There is many an area where I'd gladly challenge then best you, Michaels, but in this I'll gladly proclaim you the better man. Olivia gave us a run for our money for a few months in the beginning. Should it have been times two?" He grimaced. "I shudder to think. Speaking of which," he squeezed Laura's waist gently, "Would you mind watching over Livvie on the swings while I cook the main fare?"

"Of course not," she answered. "I want to introduce Sherry to Melina anyway." She looked around the backyard area. "Have you heard from Mildred? Monroe and Jocelyn?"

"Monroe and Jocelyn had to bow out, I'm afraid. Elijah's come up with the croup." She turned to face her husband her brow furrowed with worry.

"Oh, no. Is he alright?"

"According to Monroe, he will be," he assured her. "They just feel having him out in the night air may not be for the best. I've invited them over for brunch tomorrow instead."

"Good. And Mildred?" He gave her a toothy smile.

"She'll be along soon..." he lifted his brows conspiratorially "… with her _date._ " A dimple flashed in her cheek.

"Oh, _really_?" she mused. "Imagine all the fun we might have, asking the questions for a change instead of answering them…"

"Your thoughts mirror my own, Mrs. Steele."

"Olivia, don't you dare jump off that swing," Frances's clearly anxious voice traveled through the yard. Laura laughed softly. Apparently, their daredevil daughter was at it again, and trying her best to make Frances have a stroke.

"Duty calls," she observed. "Go play with your grill," she dismissed Remington, with a pat on his chest.

"Play with my—" He frowned after her. "I'll have you know, it's not mere a matter of plopping a few wieners down. There was a good deal of time and effort spent marinating, seasoning, and if not cooked to perfect—" He allowed his words to come to an end when Laura disappeared from sight and, with a smile, happily went off to play with his grill.


	15. Chapter 14: Unexpected Arrivals

Chapter 14: Unexpected Arrivals

"She's beautiful, Laura," Sherry praised, as they perched on the edge of a pair of lounge chairs, prepared to sprint towards any one of the kids should there be a bumped head or scratched elbow in the offing.

"Thank you." Laura fairly glowed at the compliment.

"And as fearless as you are," Sherry added with a laugh, as Olivia hung precariously by one arm off the monkey bars, her face a mask of concentration as she worked to grasp the next bar with her free hand. "She reminds me of that night when you were hanging off the steel girder," she observed with a shudder.

"What steel girder is that, Laura?" Frances asked from where she sat next to her little sister.

"She's never _told_ you?" Sherry asked, clearly surprised.

"Oh, do tell!" Melina enthused.

"It's a _great_ story," Bernice chipped in. "Five years after hearing the story, Jason is still _terrified_ I'll 'get in my head,'" she made air brackets with her fingers, "To become a detective, and it will be me hanging hundreds of feet in the air."

"Hundreds of feet?" Frances swallowed.

"Go ahead," Laura told Sherry with a wave of her hand. "You were there and can tell the story just as well as I."

"Well, Laura and Remington devised a plan to break into the Federal Reserve—"

"Which, I might point out," Murphy interrupted, "I was adamantly opposed to. The two of them," he guffawed, "Are never willing to sit back, be patient, and see if there a less—"

"We've all heard it before, Murphy," his wife told him. "Now, be quiet and let me tell the story." Next to him, Donald chuckled at the all too familiar admonishment which was often directed to him by Frances.

While Sherry recounted the harrowing adventure of days past, Laura stood and left the group to encourage her daughter as she traversed the monkey bars.

"Mommy, Mommy, push me on the swing," Olivia pleaded.

"Alright, go pick one." Laura followed behind, watching as Olivia decided which swing would best suit her purposes. Finally, she pulled herself onto the center swing and settled in.

As Laura pushed her, she let her eyes wander from child-to-child, confirming her suspicions as to why Olivia was left playing alone. Danny, who had turned seventeen two months prior, was sitting in a chair by the pool, legs slung over the arms, concentrating on the Gameboy he held in hand. Fifteen year old Mindy and thirteen-year-old Kaya, had their heads pressed together where they sat on the opposite side of the pool, tittering over the latest issue of Tiger Beat magazine. Zack, Nick and Bo – all six years old now – were playing pirates up in the fort of the playset, while ten-year-old Laurie Beth played damsel-in-distress under the direction of Veronica. While Frances's kids were generally very good with Olivia, the fact was, there was a considerable gap in age between them and their young cousin. In a decade, the three year division between the boys and Olivia would make little difference, but at this age, it left her fairly to her own devices.

"Higher, Mommy, higher," Olivia squealed, interrupting Laura's reverie.

"I got this Toots," Maxie spoke from next to Laura's arm. Laura blinked, then the words registered.

"Oh, that's alright. You should be relaxing, enjoying yourself," she protested.

"This _is_ how I enjoy myself. Nothing makes you feel younger than the spirit of youth," the elderly woman insisted. Laura hesitated.

"If you're sure."

"I am. Now off with you," Maxie told her, shooing Laura away with her hands for good measure.

Laura looked around as she rejoined the group she'd left ten minutes before.

"Where are Murph and Donald?" she inquired.

"They fled in terror as soon as we began discussing the perils of pregnancy," Sherry snorted. Laura cracked a laugh of her own.

"Yeah, that would do it," she noted.

And it had. The two men had fled to the back driveway, where Remington had had a basketball hoop installed for Danny two years prior. There they joined Zack and Brandon for a little two-on-two, indulging in a great deal of testosterone driven trash talking centering on the stamina of youth vs the importance of experience.

It was nearly eight o'clock when Mildred arrived as Remington began placing platters of food upon the table. Full of apologies for her tardiness, she was nearly giddy as she introduced the tall, silver-haired gentleman on her arm as Russell Morrison.

"My friends call me Rusty," Morrison shared, as he exchanged handshakes with Remington, "As once, not that you can tell now, I had a headful of red hair." Remington wasn't at all sure what he'd been expecting, only that this was not it. Morrison had to be at least seventy years old, if a day, yet muscle still clung to his strong frame, and his eyes glinted with good humor. Yet, perhaps, he acknowledged to himself, this was precisely the kind of man he should have expected. They'd thrown Mildred a surprise party the prior November in honor of her sixty-fifth birthday (although she'd insisted it was actually only her _forty-fifth)_. Even more so, Mildred's ex-husband, Walter, to whom she'd been married nine, interminably long years, had possessed no sense of humor at all – or much of anything else, she'd finally realized in hindsight.

"Pleasure," Remington acknowledged, before releasing the man's hand. Unable to resist, after years of Mildred's prying into and interrupting Laura and his romantic life, he gave the man a once over then asked, "Ms. Krebs is not only a valued member of our Agency, but our family as well, so might I inquire as to your intentions towards her, old chap." Mildred eyes widened in disbelief, her face flushed and she lifted a hand to her mouth, trying to quiet the horrified titter.

"Oh, Mr. Steele," she gasped. Rusty merely patted her hand that was resting on his forearm, and looked Remington in the eye when he answered.

"I've only known Mildred a short time, but not since my Eileen died have I known a woman of such class, integrity and beauty." While Mildred had blushed even more profusely at her beau's answer, Remington was instantly on alert, as although the words had sounded sincere, they were far too close to a sentiment Daniel might have uttered when trying to charm a mark. He made a note in the back of his head to speak to Laura about the man that evening.

Dinner was a rousing success, the simple fare satisfying young and old alike. Thankfully, he'd anticipated Laura's ever-changing desires when it came to food these days, for although she'd insisted her birthday dinner would only consist of hotdogs, hamburgers, chicken and an assortment of side dishes, when he sat her plate down in front of her, she visibly wilted in disappointment before him.

"What's wrong, love?" he asked in a low voice, having bent down to speak next to her near.

"Nothing. It looks wonderful," she insisted, even as she eyed her plate forlornly. "It's just…" She let out a puff of air, underscoring her frustration.

"Just what?" he quickly jumped on the slip. She huffed another sigh.

"The smell of the food cooking on the grill," she shrugged her shoulders. "I'd forgotten I hadn't mentioned steak." It had been exactly what he'd hedged his markers with, given her particular liking for red meat this pregnancy.

"Let's see what I can do about that, eh?" Picking up her plate, he walked away, returning less than a minute later with the desired steak – and a fully dressed baked potato, just in case. The adulation in her eyes for such a menial task, made his efforts more than worth it.

When dinner ended, and plates were cleared, Melina presented Laura's birthday cake: a dark and white chocolate affair made personally for her by Claude. Wisely, Remington had only placed ten candles on it, assuming a cake with thirty-five candles ablaze would not be well received. After wishes were made, candles were blown, the cake served, and drinks filled, Remington stood and raised his glass in a toast.

"To my lovely Laura, without whom I'd neither be the man I am today—"

"Isn't that the truth," Murphy muttered under his breath. Visibly wincing, he had to swallow the groan that wished to be released as he took Sherry's elbow in his ribs, and Bernice's foot in his shin, simultaneously.

"Nor would this life we cherish exist," Remington continued, not missing a beat. "Happy birthday, my love." Tapping his flute of champagne to her flute of cider, he saluted her then leaned down to steal a sweet kiss.

"Is it time for presents?" Olivia piped in hopefully, drawing laughter from around the table.

"Mmmm, _a thaisce, I believe that it is," he confirmed. She was out of her chair and running inside before he'd finished the answer. The fact was, Laura had asked, specifically, that the event be present free, so whatever her daughter had cooked up for her would be the only present unwrapped on the evening. Both Laura and Remington's head turned towards the veranda doors at the chime of the doorbell._

 _"I'll get it," Mildred volunteered, wiping her mouth then standing._

 _"Nonsense, you're our guest. I'll—" Remington began, only to be waved off with a single hand._

 _"I said, I'll get it," she repeated, passing Olivia on her way out as she went into the house._

 _"Open it, Mommy, open it," their little girl pleaded, jumping up and down in her enthusiasm. Laura reached out and fondly stroked her daughter's head as she examined the small box that was eagerly pressed into her hand._

 _"Can I guess what it is, first?" she asked. Olivia nodded her head rapidly. Laura gave the small box a shake. "Is it a piano?" Olivia giggled and shook her head. She shook the box again. "Is it a book." Another shake of the little girl's head. "I guess I'll just have to open it, since I'm not very good at guessing." Olivia pranced from foot-to-foot, as Laura slowly untied the box, then carefully eased the wrapping paper off of it. Opening the lid, she found a keychain with a black cat charm hanging from it._

 _"Like Nero, in my stories, Mommy!" Olivia exclaimed excitedly, beyond proud of the gift she'd hand selected._

"She dragged me from store-to-store for _hours_ trying to find you the perfect gift," Remington added, bestowing a look of utter pride on the little girl. Absurdly, _damned hormones,_ Laura's eyes began to tingle and she had to blink several times to ward off the tears.

"It's the most wonderful gift Mommy's ever gotten, sweetie," Laura told Olivia, gathering her in the arms in a tight hug.

"Mr. Steele? Mrs. Steele?" Both heads turned Mildred's way. "Detective Jarvis is here. Said he needs to speak with you bot right away," she glared backwards over her shoulder and in a much louder voice added, "Even though I told him tonight was _not_ a good time." The couple exchanged looks.

"Olivia, can you show me what you gave Mommy?" Frances asked, capturing the little girl's attention.

"Can I, Mommy?" Laura smiled down at her.

"Of course, you can, sweetie." She gave Frances a look of gratitude. "Stay with Aunt Frances until Mommy and Da get back. We'll only be a couple of minutes."

"Okay," she easily agreed, her attention already focused on sharing the treasure with her aunt.

Remington gave Laura a hand up, then guided her into the house with a hand to the small of her back. Mildred had apparently relegated Jarvis to waiting in the entry way as dining room and living room were devoid of the detective. Sure enough, they found the detective just inside the front door, as Mildred stood guard over him with her hands on her hips and a glower on her face.

"Jarvis," Remington greeted. "As Mildred's already told you, your timing leaves much to be desired." He paused. "Par for the course with you, now that I give it some thought." Remington had never quite forgiven Jarvis for so easily believing Des Coine's frame job.

"Steele. Laura," he nodded in her direction, his eyes widening when they landed on her distended stomach. "It seems congratulations are in order," he nodded towards her belly.

"Yes, thank you," she answered graciously.

"I assure you I wouldn't interrupt if the matter wasn't of some…urgency." Remington's eyes fell to the wide-eyed little girl, sucking her thumb, standing next to the detective.

"I didn't realize LAPD's finest were in the habit of bringing along a child on official business," Remington commented.

"Very funny, Steele," Jarvis clipped, a hard edge slicing through the words, quite contrary to his normal Barney Fife routine. His eyes flicked to Laura's stomach again, then back to Remington.

"Hi, sweetie," Laura greeted the little girl, stooping down to her eye level. Her eyes widened when she ended up with an armful of quivering child. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around the little girl and stood holding her, and stroking her back with a hand. Her eyes met Remington's. _Something's not right here,_ the look she gave him conveyed.

"Jarvis, we've a household of friends and family, celebrating Mrs. Steele's birthday," he announced, stepping closer to Laura and wrapping an arm around her waist, confirming he'd understood her silent message. "Would you mind getting on with whatever it is that's given you cause to darken our doorstep?" Jarvis's eye flitted to Laura, as she continued to soothe the child, then away. He shifted uncomfortably, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Maybe it would be best if you and I spoke alone," he suggested. Both Laura and Mildred frowned in response to that, wondering why the detective would want to see Remington alone.

"Given past… events… I'd feel better if I were present when you spoke to my husband," Laura interjected.

"Me, too. The more witnesses to any funny business, the better, if you ask me," Mildred added, her chin jutting out.

"Steele…" Jarvis tried again.

"Whatever you have to say to me, can be said in front of Laura and Mildred. We've no secrets," Remington informed the man firmly. Jarvis's shoulders slumped and he nodded towards the little girl.

"Could we at least…" He gave his head a pointed movement towards another room.

"I'll be right back," Laura answered. She began to walk towards the living room, then stopped and faced the detective again. "Not _a word's_ to be said until I get back," she warned.

"I've got it, Mrs. Steele," Mildred assured.

When she reached the veranda, Laura's eyes skimmed the guests there, as a dozen pair of curious eyes settled on her.

"Melina," Laura indicated the child she was holding in her arms, "Would you mind?"

"Of course." Melina gave her a quizzical look, but quickly rose and approached Laura to take the little girl from her arms.

"What's going on, partner?" Murphy asked, sharp, inquisitive eyes searching her face. "What do the boys in blue want?" Laura lifted and dropped her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug and brows lifting, she shook her head.

"I have no idea, but we're about to find out." His brows furrowed.

"Want company?" she mulled the offer for a minute, then slowly shook her head.

"No," she drew out the word. "Not until I have some idea what it's about. I'll call you if I need you." He gave a sharp nod of his head.

Olivia, oblivious to the attention in the room, skipped across the patio having discovered Melina holding a child close in age to herself.

"Do you wanna play?" she asked the other little girl, tugging her foot. The little girl shook her head, her arms tightening around Melina's neck.

"We'll be fine," Melina assured Laura. "Go to Xen."

"Thank you," Laura told her, then returned to the group in the entry way, who stood resolutely silent and clearly uncomfortable. She stepped in Remington's outstretched arm, knowing he was expressing his own need of support, uncertain of what was to come. Once his hand clutched her waist, she wasted no further time. "Alright, Detective, what's going on here?"

"This evening the LAPD's dispatch received call with no apparent caller on the line, although a woman's screams could be heard in the background. Two squads were dispatched to a condominium on Wilshire for a suspected two-forty, attempted assault." He gauged all three people standing before him, looking for a reaction, but all faces were attentive yet placid, giving away nothing. "Upon arriving on the scene, the call was upgraded to a two-seventeen, an—"

"We know what the codes mean, Jarvis," Remington cut in, with a sweep of his hand, growing increasingly impatient.

"Due to the nature of the crime, I was called to the scene. The attack was…" He took in a deep breath, as he searched for the correct word, clearly not unaffected by what he'd seen "…vicious. If the victim makes it, she'll almost certainly be… disfigured… the rest of her life."

"She. A woman," Laura jumped right on the clue. "Is she one of our client, prior even? Is that why you're here." Jarvis shuffled his feet, then with a shake of his head, broke eye contact with Laura, to glare at Remington again.

"She wasn't able to speak much, before she lost consciousness," he continued. "She asked if her daughter was safe. Then requested we take her to her father…."

Jarvis's eyes skittered to Laura, then back to Remington again, and, lips tightening, he spit out the rest of it.

"…Remington Steele."


	16. Chapter 15: Dirty

Chapter 15: Dirty

 _Then requested we take her to her father, Remington Steele._

 _Then requested we take her to her father, Remington Steele._

 _Then requested we take her to her father, Remington Steele._

Jarvis's words echoed in Remington's head a though they'd been hollered across a canyon. He swore he felt the world shift beneath his feet, was convinced it had as he watched Mildred stumble backwards a couple steps, and cover her mouth with her hand, uttering a…

" _Oh, Boss,_ " with such profound disappointment, _in him_ , that he didn't know how he'd work up the courage to look at Laura, who stood beside him still as a statue.

This _couldn't_ be happening, he thought, as he quickly approached the point of panic. Not now. Not when he had everything he'd ever dared to dream. Then, suddenly, the world righted itself. This _couldn't_ be happening.

"I'm sorry, Jarvis, but I'm afraid –" Laura's hand suddenly lay on top of the hand still held to her waist. She weaved their fingers together, then gave his hand a gentle squeeze, bidding him to stop speaking. Only then did he dare look at her and found instead of a face darkened by betrayal and fury, one of thoughtful contemplation. He _knew_ that look, had spent years admiring that look, then taking pride in it. She'd put together the clues and had come up with the answers.

"It's alright, sweetheart," she told him, her eyes telling him to play along. "You stunned Mr. Steele, I'm afraid. He hasn't seen or heard from _Clarissa_ ," she emphasized the name, making eye contact with Remington again, "Since she was eight, nine months along. So, naturally it's been quite a shock to see the child for the first time under these circumstances."

"You creep," Mildred muttered behind him, loudly enough the other three to hear.

"Mildred—" Remington prepared to plead his case, and turned towards the older woman, only to have Laura's hand squeeze his hand more firmly. It didn't matter though, because Mildred wasn't in the mood to listen to any excuses, explanations.

"When I think of how many times I defended you to Mrs. Steele!" she railed, wagging a finger at his face. "You, you… cheat… you _rat… you—"_

"Mildred, _please_!" Laura's raised voice cut in. "This is not helping!" Out of respect to the missus, Mildred bit her lip and didn't say another word. Laura's attention returned to Jarvis. "Where was Clarissa taken?"

"Cedars-Sinai," Jarvis provided. "Last I heard, she was still in surgery." Laura gave him a curt nod.

"Mildred, if you wouldn't mind making our excuses. Our guests are welcome to stay as long as they'd like, but Mr. Steele and I should get to the hospital to check on Clarissa." Mildred gave a curt nod, her eyes shooting bullets at the Boss. "And Mildred? Not a word of this to _anyone_."

Mildred stormed off and Laura returned her attention to Jarvis.

"Is there anything else?" she asked the detective.

"That should do it for now, but I guess I don't need to tell you we may have some question for you later, Steele." Laura's brows furrowed together at that.

"I don't see why. Remington hasn't seen Clarissa in nearly four years, and there are two dozen people in our home tonight who can attest he's been here throughout the evening." Releasing Remington's hand, she strode over to the credenza and picked up her purse. "Mr. Steele, I think a trip in the hospital is order?"

"Yes, yes. Of course, Mrs. Steele," he concurred, laying his hand on her back and escorting her to the door. "Jarvis," he nodded, to the open doorway in front of them. Taking the hint, the detective stepped outside. Closing the door behind them, Remington, with a hand on the small of her back, directed Laura down the driveway toward the garage.

"Goodnight," she called to Jarvis, wagging her fingers at him over her shoulder.

Jarvis watched the couple for a long second. His respect for Laura Holt Steele had climbed upwards another notch after this meeting. If a child from a past affair had shown up on his doorstep, his wife would have cheerfully neutered him before feeding him to the dogs. But Laura Steele? _One cool customer_ , he thought to himself as he climbed into his car and started the engine. She'd barely blinked, had just rolled with the punches. With a final shake of his head and a laugh, he pulled out of the driveway right before the couple.

Remington didn't speak until Laura turned the Jeep onto North Canon Drive. Even though she seemed unaffected by the events of the last twenty minutes, he had an overwhelming need to vindicate himself, just in case she harbored any lingering doubts.

"Laura, I swear to you, I never—"

"I thought we settled this several years ago. Am I mistaken?" she interrupted. For a split second, she'd considered letting him grovel and plead. Lord knew there were enough other transgressions committed by him to which the apologies could be retroactively applied, but watching him tear at his thumbnail with his teeth had made her unable to prolong his suffering. "You've never slept with Clarissa. She was not pregnant with your child. That was the gist of the conversation, right?"

"Yes," he agreed, watching her warily and chewing away on that nail. She reached over and pulled his hand down, weaving her fingers with his.

"Alright," she drew out the word, "Then let's move on to the matter at hand, shall we? Why—"

"How did you know?" he interrupted before she could finish the thought.

"A combination of the girl's age, eye color and that whoever the victim was, she trusted us enough to keep her child safe." She shrugged her shoulders. "It would seem likely that would be either a friend or former client. Except for Jocelyn and Monroe, our closest friends and all our family in LA were at our house this evening…"

"Green eyes. I hadn't even taken notice," he admitted.

"I don't know how you missed them. They're about as green as your eyes are blue." She laughed. "Really, Mr. Steele, you're slipping."

"I can hardly be held accountable for not noticing the color of the child's eyes, Lau-ra," he drew out her name. "I wasn't expecting a pop quiz on the matter of her paternity, after all." She flashed him a smile, before her brows knit together.

"Speaking of pop quizzes... How are we supposed to inquire after Clarissa, let alone get in to see her?" she wondered aloud. "I don't think anyone will buy we are close family members if we ask for Clarissa the hooker." He turned his head and peered out his window for long seconds, dreading what he knew lay in wait when he uttered the next word. Facing forward, he rubbed his hand over his mouth.

"Jensen," he finally offered. She looked at him, clearly surprised.

"How do you…" Her face blanked, and she let go of his hand, clenching the steering wheel so tight her knuckles blanched white. His face pinched in distress.

"Laura,-"

"We need to find out the name of the little girl, then maybe Bernard can help us track down Clarissa's family," she assessed. "Or did you happen to go home with her so you could ask Mom and Pop for her hand in marriage?" He winced at the snipe, for she'd taken aim and shot a bullseye. _Ah, damn._

"Laura,-" he tried again.

"If we don't get Sophie to family before Jarvis finds out you're not her father, she'll end up in the system. And I don't think either of us want that… for any child," she carried forward.

"No. No, we don't. Lau—"

"Do you know if her father is involved?" He scowled at that.

"How in the bloody hell would I know that?! I haven't seen the woman since that…" he stuttered to a stop, then forced himself to continue "… since that day at the doctor's office." She slanted a look toward him then away as she took the final turn towards the hospital.

"Interesting choice of words," she mulled aloud, "'Seen.' So, you've… spoken with her?" He sat back in his seat. Flustered, he lifted a hand to his cheek, then dropped it, then lifted it again drag his fingers through his hair.

"What?... No! I've had no communication with the woman at all," he clarified, defensively. "Laura, we-"

She slammed on the brakes, and turned off the car, sliding out of the Jeep before he could disembark, let alone assist her down. He jogged several steps to catch up with her quick clip across the parking lot.

"We need a –" He grabbed her arm and brought her to a jolting stop. He looked down at her intently.

"We need to talk," he admonished, gently. She yanked her arm away and continued walking.

" _No_ , _we don't_ ," she rebutted, as they walked through the automatic door of the ER. "We need to come up with a cover and I need a bathroom." Spying one, she pushed through the door, leaving Remington standing in the hall, clenching his jaw in frustration.

In the bathroom, Laura pressed her back against the cool wall, slapping an open palm against the anemic green tiled wall.

"Damn," she muttered aloud, then lifted her face to the ceiling, fingers going to her brow to knead. She had believed she'd long ago come to peace with the events five years ago. Yet, the hurt, the anger, the feeling of betrayal, the confusion, had all roared back to life the second she'd connected the little girl to Clarissa. Memories of the day she'd found Remington standing at the altar with the woman and all that had occurred after, flashed through her mind like someone tossing a stack of pictures down on a table, one photo at a time.

Logically, _she knew_ there was no reason for her to feel threatened, to strike out him as she had. But the heart didn't operate on logic and a had a mind quite its own. Yet now was neither the time nor place to be listening to the commands of a heart caught up in reminiscing. There was a little girl at their home surrounded by strangers and somewhere in this hospital was her mother, who'd been brutally attacked. For now, she needed to focus on the business at hand, and only business. Then later, when she and Remington were alone, they could deal with the rest.

With a decisive nod of her head, she pushed away from the wall and locked herself in one of the stalls. Five minutes later when she met Remington in the hall, she approached him and lay a hand on his chest.

"It's not you," she assured him. "It's me. We'll talk about it later, but for now we need to stay focused on Clarissa and finding out what we can." Swallowing hard, he nodded rapidly, then a pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"I've spoken to the charge nurse here in the ER," he informed her. "Clarissa came out of surgery a half hour past. She's been assigned to critical care on six-north."

They walked in companionable silence through a series of corridors before stepping onto the elevator which would take them to the sixth floor of the north tower. On the way up to the floor, they'd established the roles they'd use, falling back on a familiar one used many times over the years: Laura Jensen Blaine and Richard Blaine. Their deception was taken at face value and after only about five minutes in the waiting room, Clarissa's surgeon stopped by to give them an update on her condition.

"Your sister's condition is grave, I'm afraid," he began. "The damage was extensive and it was touch-and-go throughout the surgery. We repaired the punctures to her lungs, and resected her liver and large bowel to repair the damage there, as best we could. We removed both her spleen and a kidney. A cosmetic surgeon was called in to minimize the scarring on her face and neck." He took a breath. "She's alive, but as I said, her condition is grave. She lost a considerable amount of blood, even more during surgery and if any of the repairs fail to hold, we could very well lose her." Laura didn't have to feign her horror. No matter the… complications… Clarissa's participation in Remington's scheme had caused…

"The Detective we spoke with said she'd been stabbed?" The surgeon nodded his head solemnly.

"We counted thirteen entry wounds in her torso, but those do not take into account the lacerations to her face and neck." The surgeon closed his eyes and shook his head as he recalled the extraordinary amount of the injuries the woman had sustained. How she'd survived this long, was nothing short of a miracle. "If it's any comfort, the wounds on her hands tell me she fought, fought hard. That type of resolve will do her well in the days ahead." Without realizing it, Laura reached for Remington's hand and laced their fingers together, as he rubbed at the back of his neck, both of them trying not to imagine the agony Clarissa must have endured.

"When can we see her?" Laura found the wherewithal to ask.

"She came out of sedation about twenty minutes ago. The nurses will need at least that long to get her settled into her room." He paused, then gave another shake of her head. "Ten minutes. That's all I can allow. Rest will be critical to her recovery…" He trailed off, not finishing with 'if'.

"We understand," she acknowledged.

"Thank you, doctor." Remington offered his hand, and the two exchanged handshakes.

"I'll have a nurse come get you when she's ready."

With those words, the doctor departed, leaving Remington and Laura stunned and staring at one another. She didn't hesitate to fold herself into his embrace when he reached for her.

"We need to find her family, Remington. If Jarvis brought her daughter to us…"

"He likely won't look any further," he agreed. "Tomorrow. Although I suspect you'll have to convince Mildred to reach out to Bernard, as I'm not her favorite person at the moment."

"We'll correct that tomorrow as well," she promised.

The wait seemed to drag out for hours, but in reality it was less than one by the time a nurse came to take them to Clarissa's room in surgical ICU. The place brought back another bevy of bad memories for Laura, of when Remington lay in one of these very rooms four years prior. She'd hoped never to see this particular floor again, but here it was. And beyond the privacy curtain lay the woman she'd watched him nearly marry. She pulled in a slow, fortifying breath, released it, then stepped calmly into the room, Remington a step behind her. Seeing the bandages, blood already oozing through the gauze, taped to cheeks, forehead and nearly wrapped around her neck, left Laura closing her eyes, face scrunching and Remington looking away. Only when they'd fully gathered themselves did they step to the bed, and even then he resisted the urge to pick up her hand, for fear of the problems it might cause between he and his wife. Instead, Laura reached for it.

When the figure's eyelids fluttered open, if they'd had any doubts it was Clarissa lying there, they would have been dispelled, for eyes as green as grass stared up them as she struggled to focus.

"So-…" she tried to sit up, and with a sharp gasp, stilled then panted until the pain passed. "Sophie," she tried again. "Is… Is she safe?" She licked at her lips as though her mouth were parched. Automatically Laura looked to the board on the wall, the one which she'd consulted a dozen times a day for far too long when Remington was the patient. "NPO" was written loud and clear.

"She's safe. She's at our house with Remington's sister," Laura assured her. "Sophie? That's her name?"

"So-… Sophia Alexa Jen-… Jensen."

"That's a beautiful name," she complimented. "Clarissa, why have her brought to us? Why tell the detective she's Remington's?"

"Sophie… was there…saw." Remington and Laura's eyes connected, silently acknowledging things may have become far more complicated.

"She saw the person who did this to you?" he pressed.

"Men… two men… they work for… her father." His stomach churned at the words, while Laura's back visibly straightened.

"Sophie's _father_ had this done to you?" Laura asked, incredulously. Clarissa merely blinked and gave the slightest nod of her head. "Why?!"

"Ended it… for Sophie… But I'd heard… seen too... too much… Not who I thought… he was." She drew in a rasping breath, then coughed, her eyes rolling back in her head in answer to the pain. "Dirty," she added.

"Dirty. Dirty what?" Remington prodded. Energy flagging, Clarissa forced herself to concentrate on him.

"Gabriel Ca-… Castoro," she gasped, then coughed again. The name meant nothing to Remington, but he watched as Laura paled.

"What? What is it?" he asked her anxiously. "Is it the babe?" Grabbing a chair from several feet behind her, he moved it close then eased her down even as she shook her head in the negative, never releasing Clarissa's hand.

" _Deputy Chief_ Gabriel Castoro of the LAPD?" Laura asked, enunciating each word in her shock.

"Ye-… Yes."

"Oh, God," Remington mumbled, rubbing at his mouth with his hand. "Clarissa, forgive me for asking this, but how in the bloody hell did you end up involved with a _cop_ given your…" he grimaced and gave an apologetic wave of his hand "… profession?"

"Met outside of the jail…" her eyes shifted to Laura, her apology clear in the strain around them, "… that day… Stopped… for him." Another round of coughing seized her, and she moaned in its aftermath.

"I'm sorry. We won't ask many more questions, I promise," Laura assured. "Even though Castoro is Sophie's father, you think he'd hurt her?" Clarissa nodded faintly.

"Never wanted… her. I re-… refused to get an… abortion. Pre-… Pretends she doesn't…" She had to pause to cough again, then drew in a hard breath. "…Exist. Said she could… could be one of… a dozen … men's. Beat me… when I said no… Wanted… wanted her gone. Tried to leave… but no money… Couldn't," she panted, as the effort to speak became far too much for her, "…Work… wa-…watched."

"Your family couldn't help you?" Laura asked, appalled by the story she was hearing. Clarissa's eyes welled with tears at the question and she looked away. Leaving that question lay for now, she tried again. "You said you knew too much, had seen too much. What did you mean?"

"Last… last summer. Westside… hit… Not gangs…. Him… To prove a… a point." Remington lay his hand on Laura's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. That hit had incited gang retaliation the likes of which LA hadn't seen in a long time. For more than two weeks, each daily edition of the paper had reported more violence, more deaths, including of innocent people whose lives had been taken in the crossfire. If Castoro had indeed incited it all, and whatever Clarissa had seen and overheard could prove it, he'd have every reason to want to silence her.

"Do you know the men who attacked you?" Laura asked. The other woman gave a minute shake of her head.

"Cops," she wheezed. "Don't…" She sucked in a breath. "Know…names."

"And you're sure Sophie saw them?" Clarissa's eyes grew wide with fear.

"Yelled… run…" she gasped again. "Hide, baby." She was seized by another coughing fit, this time desperately trying to pull air into her lungs. The alarms on the monitor began squealing, and her eyes widened in panic. Her free hand flailed in the air, as Remington raced for the door.

"We need help in here," he yelled down the hall.

Within seconds the room filled with personnel.

"We need you to leave," one nurse insisted, pointing towards the door, as another pulled out her stethoscope and leaned down to listen to Clarissa's chest.

Heeding the directive, the couple stepped outside of the room, but loitered in the hall, anxiously awaiting an update on Clarissa. Remington reached for Laura's hand, clasping it in his, as they watched the nurse who'd ordered them to leave rush down the hall, only to return, pushing a cart with various instruments upon it in front of her. The surgeon who'd spoken to them earlier in the waiting room, dashed into Clarissa's room not long after. Held speechless by all Clarissa had shared, not to mention the condition the once vibrant woman was in, they awaited word in silence. When the surgeon finally emerged, his white lab coat was blood spattered and he looked as though he'd aged several years during the time he'd been in there.

"Your sister's left lung collapsed. I inserted a chest tube to release the air in her chest cavity, and the lung has re-expanded." He blew out a breath. "She's been heavily sedated, so you may as well go home, get some rest. I don't expect her to wake before morning."

Remington glanced at Laura, and for the second time on the evening, extended his hand to the surgeon.

"Thank you, doctor." He turned his attention to an abnormally quiet Laura. "Shall we, love?" he queried, indicating the elevator with a tilt of his head. She looked up, her weariness showing in her face, and she slowly nodded.

"Yes, home," she agreed, gladly leaning against him when he wrapped an arm around her waist.


	17. Chapter 16: Houseguest

Chapter 16: Houseguest

Laura and Remington trudged wearily through their front door at a little after midnight. As occurred on the rarest of occasions, she'd handed him the keys to the Jeep before they'd stepped through the hospital doors, then had catnapped on the twenty-minute ride home. Once he'd put the Jeep into park in front of their house, her only thought had been checking on the girls. Both had been somewhat surprised to find the living room lights still on. He dropped his keys on the credenza, she her purse, and with his hand on the small of her back, walked into the room to find Melina dressed in pajamas and robe, curled up in the corner of the couch, nursing a cup of cocoa.

"How are the girls?" Laura asked, when they came to a halt near the couch, smiling and laying her hand over the supportive hand Remington laid to rest on her shoulder.

"Asleep in Olivia's bed." She smiled softly. "Livvie refused to leave Sophie's side all evening." She leaned forward, and set her glass on the table, her face turning troubled. "It may not be my place to ask, but ask I will. I've never seen a child so… sad, withdrawn. She'll speak only to Olivia, yet seems… afraid to be without an adult, a woman more specifically. What has happened to this child?" Laura looked back over her shoulder at Remington, gave his hand a squeeze. With a nod, he took a seat in the chair across from the couch, then waited as Laura perched on the armrest. Leaning forward he scrubbed at his face with his hands, then held them palms up in front of him, in a helpless gesture.

"We've only parts of the story ourselves right now. We'll gladly share the whole of what we know tomorrow," Laura nodded her agreement, this time placing her hand on his shoulder. "The synopsis, if you will, is her mother is a former client of ours, and she had Sophie brought to us under the guise she is my daughter, to keep the child safe." Melina's eyes narrowed and shifted back and forth between the couple.

"Yours… Xen?" A series of emotions flashed across her face: confusion, anger, dismay, disillusionment. It was the second time on the evening someone he cared about had looked at him as such, and it left him ill at ease and at a loss for words.

"She's not," Laura clarified, leaving Melina nodding her head in relief. "What she is, is a child who witnessed a… vicious… attack on her mother this evening, and as a witness, could be in grave danger." Melina's eyes widened.

"Surely not!" Remington rubbed at his mouth and only made eye contact with her. "She's only a baby!" Melina protested. She looked back and forth between them again, then seemed to deflate before them. "As horrid as this news is, it does much to explain this evening." Two pairs of avid eyes settled on her.

"What do you mean? Did something happen?" Laura asked, her fingers clutching Remington's shoulder.

"Not such as you mean." Laura and Remington visibly relaxed at the words. "No more than I've said already. If she witnessed what you stated, it would go far to explain her fear."

"Yes, it would," Laura agreed.

"The mother. Will she heal?' Melina inquired. A pair of brown eyes met a pair of blue.

"We hope so," Remington spoke for them. "Although she'll have a long road ahead of her. Her injuries were… substantial."

"And until she recovers?" Although not stated, what Melina was asking was still patently clear. He looked to Laura, unsure of where her mind was at on the matter, given not only whose child it was, but the possible risks to their own family by giving her safe harbor.

"Tomorrow, we find Clarissa and Sophie's family. They need to know what's happened and Sophie belongs with them," she answered decisively. "But, as for tonight? We all need to get some sleep. I know I, for one, am exhausted." On cue, he stood and offered her a hand to her feet. "Melina, I can't thank you enough for watching over the girls this evening. I know it wasn't what you'd planned."

"I planned to spend the evening with my family, and I did just that," Melina dismissed, rising herself and picking up her mug. "Sleep well."

Remington and Laura checked on the girls before retiring their room. She couldn't help the smile that lifted her lips when she took them in: facing one another in Olivia's twin bed, as though they'd been sharing secrets before sleep stole them away, a thumb in Sophie's mouth, two fingers in Livvie's. Tucking the sheet and bedspread around them, she leaned down and pressed a whisper soft kiss against her daughter's head. For the first time in three months they'd been unable to keep their bedroom routine and she couldn't help but wonder if Olivia had missed it as much as she. She waited across the room for Remington, as he, too, bent down to kiss their child goodnight, then preceded him to their room.

* * *

"Mommy." A small voice called to Laura in her dreams, then became more insistent. "Mommy!" A small hand persistently patted her arm, dragging her from her sleep. She blinked her bleary eyes, even as she felt Remington rousing behind her. She's fallen asleep before he'd joined her after his shower, and must have left the door open for the night. After their close encounter with Olivia, those few weeks before, they'd introduced a new rule to the three-year-old: If the door was closed, she was to knock and wait for them to answer; if the door was open, she could come right in.

"Olivia, baby, what's wrong?" she asked, sleepily, pushing herself up on an elbow to look down at her daughter. Even before Livvie responded, the soft whimpering coming from across the hall provided the answer.

"Sophie's crying. She wants her Mommy," the little girl urgently announced. They were already extracting themselves from bed and reaching for their robes before she finished.

Indeed, they found Sophia curled up in the fetal position, thumb in mouth, softly crying while sucking her thumb. Laura sat down on the edge of the bed and lay a cautious hand on the little girl's back.

"Soph—Oh!" she exclaimed in surprise, when she found herself with an armful of frightened child. Intuitively, her arms wrapped around the girl. Giving Remington a look of concern, with some difficulty, given her advanced pregnancy and the child in her arms, she got to her feet and crossed the room to the rocking chair.

Remington looked down in response to a tug at his robe.

"Da, where's Sophie's Mommy?" Olivia asked, gazing up at him with troubled eyes. He easily swept her up in his arms and carried her towards the bed.

"Sophie's Mommy doesn't feel very well and needs us to help with Sophie for just a little while," he answered, which was true enough, but he didn't feel the need to go into details with their young daughter.

"Is her Mommy taking care of _her?_ " she asked curiously, as he sat her on the bed. He shook his head.

"The doctors in the hospital are working _very_ hard to make her feel better." Her eyes grew round.

"Is she gonna get shots like Dr. H gives me?" He nodded solemnly.

"Many, I'd wager. In you get now. Time to have a little lie down, hmmmm?" He tucked her under the covers then stretched out next to her, propping his head against his hand and softly stroking her hair and arm while he watched Laura rock Sophie.

Laura racked her brains. The little girl was beyond tired, in a strange bed, in a strange home, relying on people she'd never met before to care for her… all after watching her mother being brutalized. Were there any words potent enough to make a three, four-year-old child believe the world would one day feel safe to her again? She didn't know. So, for minutes on end, she crooned the only words she could find.

"It's okay, Sophie… You're safe… We won't let anything happen to you… You're safe."

And when that failed to stop the little girl from shaking as tears slipped from her eyes, without conscience choice, she turned to what offered Olivia the most comfort when restless, sick or afraid.

" _A dream is a wish your heart makes  
When you're fast asleep  
In dreams you will lose your heartache  
Whatever you wish for, you keep."_

When the last words of Cinderella's _A Dream's A Wish Your Heart Makes_ faded from her lips _,_ Laura said a prayer of thanks for Olivia's recent obsession with the Disney movies, for Sophie gave a final shudder, and tucked herself as close to Laura as she could, before plopping a thumb into her mouth. She segued smoothly into Dumbo's _Baby Mine_.

" _Baby mine, don't you cry  
Baby mine, dry your eyes  
Rest your head close to my heart  
Never to part  
Baby of mine."_

Remington's eyes never left her, as the nostalgia of many nights spent exactly thus when Livvie was a mere babe, flooded him with warmth. That she'd ever questioned her maternal instincts, whilst always absurd, was veritably laughable now, for her inborn compassion and gentle touch had made her a natural from the start. With the exception of that one, lone night, at the start of Olivia's colic, she was infinitely patient with their little girl, stopping whatever it was she doing, without hesitation, to give a hug, a kiss, to answer a question or simply praise her latest drawing. Many a fall evening found her pushing Olivia on the swings out back, or catching her as she came hurtling down the slide. Summer days spent in the pool, teaching their little one to swim. Lazy Sunday afternoons, all three of them lounging in the hammock, as she read to Olivia from Robert Louis Stevenson's _Garden of Verses._ It was the stuff dreams were made of, and somehow it was all his.

"Remington," she called softly to him. A call that went unheeded, drawing her focus to him. Eyes dazed, a smile playing on his lips, a certain sign he was lost in his own musings. "Remington," she tried again, only to be met with the same result. And he'd had the audacity to tease _her_ about her tendency to daydream while she was pregnant? Ha! But, the reality was, the weight of Baby Steele and Sophie combined, had conspired to make her bladder scream. If she didn't catch his attention soon… She pulled out the big gun.

"Sweetheart?" He blinked, then focused on her as a lopsided smile lifted his lips. "Can you...?" She indicated the sleeping child with a downward cast of her eyes.

"Of course," he readily agreed, extracting his long, lanky frame from the pint-sized bed. His quiet laugh followed her as she sprinted, as quickly as her expanded form would allow her, from the room once he relieved her of her load.

A few minutes later, after setting the baby monitor on his bedside table, he rejoined her in bed, enfolding her in his embrace. With a laugh, she smacked a palm to her forehead.

"The baby monitor. Why didn't I think of that?" He nuzzled his cheek against the side of her head.

"Have to stay a step ahead of you here and there, love, to remind you of why you keep me around," he teased lightly, then snuggled in more firmly against her back to sleep.

* * *

Laura and Remington were aroused twice more that night by Sophie's whimpers, with she responding each time since it appeared it was a woman's touch the child was needing. Thus, Laura was unsurprised when she woke mid Sunday morning to find the sheets next to her cool to the touch and an empty bedroom across the hall. With Monroe and Jocelyn coming over for brunch, it appeared their traditional Sunday morning breakfast in bed would go by the wayside. Showered, hair pulled back and dressed in another of Remington's shirts and a pair of capris, she wandered downstairs to locate her missing husband, progeny and guest.

In the living room, she found Melina watching over the girls as they played with Olivia's Little People's dollhouse on the floor… or rather Olivia playing and talking to Sophia, as the blonde haired little girl watched solemnly and silently as she sucked her thumb. A glance at Melina provided confirmation that the little girl remained as withdrawn as she'd been since her arrival. Stooping down, Laura placed a kiss on Olivia's cheek and greeted her good morning, the turned and did the same with Sophia, only for a pair of green eyes to settle on her, but elsewise not a glimmer of response.

She found Remington in the kitchen, diligently slicing kiwi, strawberries, honeydew and cantaloupe for their brunch. Circling his waist with her arms, she pressed her face against his back in a form of a hug. Setting down the knife, he turned in her embrace and dropped a kiss on waiting lips.

"Good morning, Mrs. Steele. Get a bit of sleep finally, did you?" he greeted with a smile on his lips and a sparkle in his eyes.

"Hmmmmm. I did." She reached for a slice of kiwi and plopped it in her mouth. "What time are we expecting Monroe and Jocelyn?" He eased out of their mutual embrace, to pour her a cup of tea.

"Eleven-thirty," he provided. A quick glance at her watch showed it was nine-fifty-five. An hour and a half. More than enough time for what she had in mind.

"Can you make that tea to go?" she requested. He did a double take, but put her mug back in the cabinet and reached for her insulated coffee cup instead.

"I can. Is there a particular reason why?" he queried. She snitched a slice of strawberry, ignoring the look he gave her.

"After I call Mildred and ask her to join us, I want to run out and pick up Sophia a couple of things she'll need. Even if we find her grandparents or uncle today, she's been wearing the same clothes since…" She left the sentence unfinished, lest the little one hear the reminder of what she'd lay witness to the prior day. "Not to mention a toothbrush." For the second time in as many minutes, she ignored the look he gave her.

"You're sure you don't wish to ask Melina to take care of that? I doubt she'll mind, as she does love nothing more than to shop." A not so subtle reminder of Laura's allergy to the task.

"Melina did more than enough last night. She's family, not our nanny," she reproached gently as she walked over to pick the phone up off the counter where it lay. "I was thinking that after brunch you and I should go by the hospital again," she suggested, as she dialed a number.

"I called this morning." She raised a brow in surprise at him. "No change." She nodded as the caller on the other line answered.

"Krebs. Happy Sunday morning!" Mildred greeted.

"Mildred, it's Laura. Happy Sunday morning to you as well," she smiled into the phone.

"Mrs. Steele? Is everything alright? Did you kick the bum out on his keister for that little… surprise… and during your birthday party no—"

"It's not what you think, Mildred," Laura interrupted, holding up a hand to stop her even though it could not be seen. "As a matter of fact, Mr. Steele and I would like you to join us for brunch this morning, where everything will be explained." Mildred harrumphed disbelievingly on the other end of the line. She'd gone to bed furious with the Boss and worried about Mrs. Steele, and when she'd awakened this morning, they'd been first on her mind again.

"I don't know how smart that is, because the Boss'll be getting an earful from me next time I see him," Mildred warned. Laura gave a silent snort of laughter. Love him like a son, Mildred might, but along with that came taking him to task like one as well.

"Tell you what. I'll make you a deal. Come to brunch," she suggested, then slanted her eyes towards her husband impishly, "Then after we've explained last night's events, he's yours to do with as you please." He lifted a brow at her in answer.

"Nice to know I've a wife so willing to toss me to the wolves," he muttered, then laughed. Her laughter joined his own.

"What time?" Mildred asked.

"Eleven. See you then."

Laura hung up the phone then plucked a piece of honeydew from the platter of fruit and grabbed her tea from the counter.

"I'll be back," she announced.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" He leaned his backside against the counter, crossed legs at ankles, while leveling his eyes upon her. She frowned and gave the question thought.

"Not that I know of."

"Ah, so the bloom on the rose has truly paled, has it then?" She smiled wide and laughed lightly then took the several steps required to stand in his embrace. Pressing up on her tiptoes she gave him a sweet kiss.

"Better?"

"It always is when you're in my arms," he hummed. Tipping back her chin with two fingers beneath it, he studied her face for long enough to draw a concerned frown to her brow.

"Is something wrong?" He bent his head down and bussed her on the forehead, allowing his lips to linger for a scant second longer than normal.

"Not at all," he assured. "Perhaps it's that I realized, as I lay watching you sing a frightened child to sleep, exactly how _right_ everything is. This life, our family." He traced the backs of two fingers along her cheek. "I love you, Laura." Her teeth nibbled her lower lip while her eyes sparkled with emotion. Pressing back up on her tiptoes, she kissed the side of his neck, then lips as she drew a hand through his hair.

"I love you." Her mood grew somber. "We're alright, Remington. Yesterday was an anomaly. We've come a long way since what happened, both in time and who we are. I'll even give you permission to write it off to hormones…" she shook a finger in his face "… _this one time_." He nodded his head slowly, soberly, then cupped her neck and drew her lips back up to his again. There was nothing fleeting about this kiss, as he fed off her sweet taste, thankful the past would not come back to drive a wedge between them, thankful the woman who wouldn't allow it to.

The kiss ended abruptly when they heard a surprised gasp reached their ears.

"I'm sorry," Melina apologized, preparing to retreat.

"Nothing to apologize for," he brushed off, giving Laura a final kiss then a pat on the bottom. "Don't shop us into the poorhouse, love." She turned as she was exiting the kitchen and gave him a pert look.

"You seem to forget which of us is that's leaving with card in hand." With that note, she left the kitchen, pausing in the living room to kiss Olivia goodbye, then grabbed her purse in the entryway and was on her way.


	18. Chapter 17: Resolve

Chapter 17: Resolve

A city which relied as heavily on its tourist trade as it did on its film trade it might be, and a part of the Bible Belt it might not be, yet LA's most popular and expansive retail stores were shuttered tight until between eleven and noon on Sunday's, Laura was reminded. She settled on finding what she needed at the local Kmart, whose doors opened wide every day at nine a.m. She'd easily be able to find the items Sophia required to tide her over, until they located her nearest family.

The shopping excursion, as much as she despised the task, had done her good. The cool, fresh air blowing over her as she drove the Jeep had given her energy, and the drive itself had allowed her time to dwell on what Remington had said shortly before she'd left.

"… _ **exactly how right everything is. This life, our family."**_

It was, in truth, a life she'd never imagined, even in her wildest of dreams. Oh, they'd faced their problems here and there, and the irony that the biggest of their altercations surrounded work hadn't escaped her. The issues when Celek first arrived at the Agency came readily to mind, more so because it was the most recent example than anything else. As did an incident about four months after they'd returned from their anniversary celebration and Olivia's baptism in Greece.

They'd been on a case. It had seemed rather straightforward: A little B&E, retrieval of papers from a safe, and a search of the mansion their client had once called home as a child, to find the evidence he needed to prove his father had been murdered for his fortune. For a week, Laura or Remington staked out the house at night with either Zack or Brandon accompanying them, to become familiar with the routines of the recent widow and her long-time boy toy. The night of the B&E, everything had proceeded according to the plan at first. While Remington cracked the safe and recovered its contents, Laura searched the home, discovering a white plastic gallon jug in the kitchen that was out of place. As she was turning to leave the room to share with Remington her discovery, she found herself facing a pair of beefy men with guns trained on her. Not a half-minute had ticked by before Remington came in search of her, his job complete, and found himself also at the wrong end of a gun. Initially, icy calm had reigned, as they'd been in similar situations before and likely would be again, and they coolly calculated how best to free themselves from the predicament at hand.

Then, all hell had broken loose, spurred by one of the men's overzealous frisking of Laura.

"Nice titties," the man commented, vulgarly. "Smaller than I like, but ya know what they say… More than a mouthful's a waste." He and the other thug had enjoyed a good laugh over that, but she knew by the scuffling behind her, it had infuriated her partner and husband, even as the search continued. "Nice ass," he 'complimented' her. "Firm, round cheeks, great for a man to dig his hands into as you ride him hard." He stood and ground his hips against her bottom. "Whadya say?"

"Sorry, I'm a bit busy right now. Maybe another time," she retorted, breezily, even as her stomach rolled with revolution.

He spun her around, pressing his body to hers, effectively blocking her between the counter she was leaning against and him. He took advantage of the situation, grinding against her hips this time.

"I could show you a _really_ , good time," he leered, grabbing a fistful of hair, and pulling her head forward.

"Not with what you're packing," she bit out, her temper getting the better of her. She hadn't even seen the hand coming before it snapped her head sideways, then didn't have time to think, as the other guard guffawed at her insult and Remington's rage exploded. A quick knee to the groin of her captor and a frying pan against his head, subdued him, and by then Remington's guard lay groaning on the floor.

They'd had a raucous fight as they descended the Canyon in the Porsche.

"What _the hell_ was that all about?"

"You expect me to stand by and watch as _my wife_ is—"

"I expect you to let me handle it! Do you think I haven't had some creep paw me before? Well, I have! _Dozens_ of times, and it will happen again!"

"And you were handling it so well, insulting the bugger, as you—"

They'd argued the point endlessly, until in utter frustration she'd yelled…

"You could have gotten us both killed. Those were guns on us, _very real guns._ Need I remind you we have a child expecting us to come home?!"

He'd fallen silent, immediately, and in retrospect, that he had should have thoroughly alarmed her. Instead, she'd believed the matter settled until as they lay in bed that evening he'd said into the darkness.

"You're right." She enjoyed a moment of smug righteousness at the words. "We can't risk Olivia losing both her parents. I think it would be best if we no longer partnered one another."

She'd been blindsided, simultaneously furious and crushed by his pronouncement. Rendered utterly speechless, she'd stood and left the room, making her bed in the guestroom where she remained for four nights until they'd finally worked things out.

He'd argued, vociferously, his heartfelt belief the risk was far too great. If it had been impossible imagining losing one another before, the idea of leaving Olivia an orphan was unfathomable. It hadn't taken her long to realize his decision had not been petulance, but had been born from true fear. Thinking rationally, she knew Olivia would never suffer the fate he had as a child should the worst happen – Frances and Donald, Thomas and Catherine, the entire Androkus family would never allow that to come to pass. But the heart wasn't rational, and that was when she realized what he needed to hear.

"Us no longer partnering is not the answer, Remington," she told him, choosing her words carefully. "Is there anyone other than the two of us, together, that you would trust to get us _both_ out of a situation like the other night, whole and alive?" He pulled a hand through his hair roughly enough that he'd left her wincing, even as he continued to pace, frenetically.

"Well, no, but—"

"The only answer is that we no longer take cases that, after careful consideration, may require we take chances at some point that could put our lives at risk."

It had killed her to say the words. She'd loved every adrenaline filled moment of their riskier adventures together from that first heist of the _Five Nudes of Cairo_ to absconding with the Old Masters to swiping the Hapsburg Dagger out from beneath nose of Freddie Smith, those first days in Acapulco, their time on the Med. But the idea of not being present when Olivia danced in her first recital, began kindergarten, graduated from high school, married one day (if she so chose) left her unable to breathe. The thought of no longer partnering with Remington left her stomach churning and heart aching. As much as she loved her job, there were simply some parts of it that were no longer worth the potential costs.

Yes, a case that seemed 'safe' at the outset could still turn sideways on them, as many had in the past, but that concession had gone a long way towards quelling his fears. It was not the only ground she'd had to cede either, if even only to herself. The simple truth was, Remington would no more be able to stand by and watch her being manhandled without attempting to end it than the tides could stop rising and falling.

He'd known what the decision had cost her, and had extended an olive branch of his own. While they would discuss new cases and come to a decision together, should they be unable to reach a unanimous decision, he'd cede to her judgment. It was a reflection of his trust in her to do so, for he was telling her, in not so many words, that he knew she'd prioritize what mattered most, no matter the lure.

They'd both come to fully embrace this life of theirs, had finally let go of all the fears and insecurities that had kept them apart for so many years. His words on the sailboat the day of their second anniversary had held true and strong: he no longer struggled to say the three words she felt she'd waited a lifetime to hear the first time. Oh, there were no casual 'love you's' tossed at one another as they parted each other's company or hung up the phone. It had taken far too long for them to trust in the words, to many years of letting go of all the fears associated with them, not to attribute them meaning, not to attribute them reverence. But moments like this morning were frequent, a way of touching base, reassuring, being assured, of expressing the value they attributed to having the other in their lives.

Value. It was incredible to realize the person standing at your side day in and day out valued all parts of you. She'd once feared she'd be consumed by Remington until there was nothing of herself left, but in fact, quite the opposite was true. He encouraged her to be _all_ of herself: friend, partner, wife, mother, detective, athlete, pianist, dancer. When one part of her seemed to demand she'd have to let go of another, he'd help her see the way to having it all. In the months before they added new associates to the Agency, she'd struggled more than she ever had before. The caseloads had demanded extended hours, which once she'd have relished, but she now saw as interfering with her daughter's needs. She'd wondered how long it would be before he – or herself – would demand she sacrifice the private detective and business owner for the mother. That time had not only never come, but had never even been a consideration in his eyes. He understood without her ever saying a word that choosing to be less of a detective to be more of a mother would strike at the very fabric of her self-identity. Instead, he'd off-handedly remarked that perhaps it was time to increase their workforce once again. Problem solved.

That was but one example of many. Jogging strollers that mysteriously appeared, so she could spend more time with her daughter, but not give up the running she enjoyed. A playpen set up in their studio, so Olivia might be present while she stretched at the bar, and he sketched at his easel. Plans for a playset out back, to eliminate the time it took to drive to the park. Him wordlessly taking on more paperwork for the Agency, freeing up time for her to take Olivia to dance class. Arranging weekend errands with Olivia to conveniently coincide with her swimming laps in the pool. Many, many little things that amounted to the huge task of helping her be not only Laura Steele but Laura Holt as well.

Little things that had made it easy to agree to a second child, because doing so would only add to who she was, not require her to give a piece of herself up.

It wasn't all one sided. As time passed, the fear that had followed her from the first day they'd met that she'd wake up one day and find him gone had slowly melted away. His deeds every day said clearly that this was the life he wanted, and he'd cling to it with all that he had. That realization had in turn led to a new piece of insight on her husband: Those little side trips he used to take, when he'd disappear for days at a time, had nothing to do with escaping but finding – himself. Of the two of them, it was he that sacrificed the most of himself, in many ways. Once a man who enjoyed whiling the nights away at the gaming tables, with the exception of his every other week poker games at Monroe's, those days were long gone. Once a man who freely wandered the globe at want and will, except for their business trips – and in recent years their annual trips to Catalina, Vail, and their two week vacation to Europe – he was now confined to one very small corner of the world. The little pieces and parts of himself he'd given up in order to have this life they'd created with one another.

Over time she'd learned to identify the signs of his restlessness. When the cards came out for a game of solitaire, he was recalling, wistfully, the late nights amid bright lights and gaming tables. So, she'd shoo him off to a night at Bedards or for a long weekend in Vegas with Monroe, or, God forbid, Weasel. Continual complaints about the absurdity of the warm temperatures of LA in winter meant he was missing the days when he could enjoy the powder at St. Moritz, Andermatt, the Alps on nothing more than a whim. She'd conspire with Frances to convince he and Donald that they needed a weekend of sisterhood, and they'd pack the men off for a weekend in Vail. A far away look as he'd stand at his office window, looking out over the horizon, a certain indication he was feeling confined, overwhelmed by days and nights consumed by his many obligations when once he'd had none. She'd arrange for Olivia to spend a few days with Frances, and surprise him with a trip to Theoule-sur-Mer, Maui, or Tahiti. And when those unconscious touches of his multiplied threefold, it was his way of expressing, unknowingly, that his footing was unsteady, that he needed to reconnect with her in the most elemental of ways. On those days, it was not uncommon for a hand to tug him towards a bath or he'd find himself the recipient of a Tibetan massage… or he'd arrive home to find Mildred waiting, and Laura prepared to whisk him away for an evening of dinner and dancing, followed by a night at the Rossmore where they'd make love until they ached then sleep, bodies entwined, until they roused of their own volition to spend a lazy morning in bed.

For a man whose needs once seemed so complex, they were actually very simple. All he needed to be truly happy was his home, his family, a little travel, the occasional nightlife, but most of all her, the woman he'd changed everything for so she might see him as worthy as her mate, to love… to keep.

How could she not be enamored with this life she was now living, when someone who loved her with such absolute devotion, finality, was at the center of it all?

Yes, the shopping excursion had served her well, for when she returned home – with underwear, nightgown, tights, dresses and toothbrush for Sophia – she was relaxed, and her skin positively glowed from the warmth only such contentment could bring.

* * *

When Laura pulled up to the house, Mildred was already there, having arrived a little after eleven. Most wouldn't have noticed the tension in the house, certainly the children hadn't, but Remington's nervous gestures as he put the finishing touches on brunch and Mildred's refusal to look at him as she played with the children on the floor, were both blaring announcements that the elephant still remained in the room.

"Melina, would you mind helping Sophia get changed?" she asked her sister-in-law, while holding up her bags, indicating the purchases within, "I need a few minutes to speak with Mildred and Xenos," she pointedly looked at the girls, "alone."

"Certainly," Melina agreed, more than willing to take leave of the room until whatever the tension, which she felt as well, was resolved. "Olivia, Sophie, let's go upstairs for a bit."

Laura stepped into the kitchen where she was greeted with a pair of lips brushing her cheek, as she opened the fridge and snitched a couple more pieces of fruit from the platter.

"Mission successful?" he inquired, as he opened the door to the oven and removed a batch of fresh muffins, replacing them with a sheet of tarts waiting to bake.

"Enough to get her through, at least." She gave him an exasperated look. "It turns out Sunday mornings are not ideal for shopping excursions of the type I needed to make." She popped a slice of strawberry into her mouth. "Mildred, can you join us please?" she called into the living room. "Tea?" Laura offered when Mildred took a seat on one of the barstools positioned at the breakfast bar.

"Sure," she answered shortly, giving Remington a censuring look when his eyes flickered to her.

"Mr. Steele, would you mind?" Laura asked, with a nod to the tea kettle.

"Not at all," he agreed. Laura meandered across the kitchen to lean on arms folded against the bar.

"Mildred, this is neither what you think, nor what I led Detective Jarvis to believe." Mildred harrumphed, and crossing her arms leveled narrowed eyes on Laura.

"Mrs. Steele, you're a good woman, and you've stood by him through thick and thin, defending him time and time again," she began. "But I have two eyes and ears. I know what was said last night, and that little girl is only a month or two older than Livvie, which means she'd have been conceived right about the time _he,_ " she hooked a thumb in Remington's direction, "Was playing his games with that… that… lady of the evening."

"A little more than seven months older than Olivia, actually," Laura corrected. "We ran into Clarissa at my first obstetrics visit back in March of '87… as the nurse was scheduling her for a possible induction if Sophie didn't arrive within the week on her own." Mildred considered this for several seconds then pursed her lips disbelievingly and shook her head.

"Then why would you tell that Jarvis—"

"Mildred, do you honestly believe Jarvis would have told us _anything_ if he didn't believe Mr. Steele was Sophie's father?" she posed the question. "Between his announcement, Sophie's eyes, I knew who her mother was and we needed to find out not only what happened to her, but why she'd sent Sophie to us." Mildred looked from Remington to Laura then back to Remington, looking increasingly guilt stricken with each turn of her head.

"You're not?" Remington shoved his hands in his pocket, playing up his injury for the woman who mothered him and looked away.

"Other than the fact the child would have been conceived while Laura and I were in Greece?" He huffed an off-put laugh. "I wouldn't have done that to Laura, regardless of my foolishness elsewise where the woman's concerned," he answered grudgingly. Laura, holding mug in hand and still leaning against elbows to counter, merely raised her brows when Mildred looked at her for confirmation. The older woman slipped off the stool and hustled across the room to stand in front of him, her face filled with contrition, then wrapped her arms around him and hugged him.

"Can you forgive an old... er, woman for jumping to conclusions?" she asked. He patted her shoulder, growing increasingly uncomfortable with the show of emotion as he so often did.

"You believed only what was presented to you," she looked up at him and nodded her head, "Although in the future I'd appreciate it if you questioned that as well." He bussed her quickly on the cheek then stepped away, to check the progress of the scones.

"Mildred, while the girls are upstairs, would you mind calling Bernard and putting him on speakerphone so we can both speak with him?" Laura requested. "We're hoping given his long… business… association with Clarissa he might have an idea where we can find Sophie's grandparents or uncle." Mildred nodding briskly, returning to the counter and picking up the handset for the phone.

"Will do." All three waited until the call was picked up on the other side.

"Hello?" a woman's voice came over the line.

"Rita, it's Aunt Mildred. Can I speak to Bernard? It's a business matter."

They waited as the woman called her husband to the phone. A short time later, they heard the clatter of the phone as he picked it up from the counter where it had been laid.

"Aunt Mildred? What's up?" Bernard greeted.

"I have Mr. and Mrs. Steele with me. They need to ask you a few questions about your…" she grimaced "…friend, Clarissa."

"Sure. Fire away," he agreed easily.

"Bernard, before we start, I think you should know Clarissa was attacked last night," Laura informed him.

"What?" he asked, clearly stunned. "What happened? How serious is it?" Laura filled him in amid a good deal of mumbled comments on his part, while Remington joined Laura, mimicking her pose against the bar.

"Bernerd, Clarissa had her daughter brought to us for safekeeping," he added. "We're hoping you might be able to provide us a bit of assistance in locating Clarissa's parents or brother?"

"Doug, Clarissa's brother, OD'ed last year. Heroin. He was buried back home near…" they could hear him snapping his fingers as he tried to come up with the name, "Caffrey? No. Catheys Valley. That's it. Where she and Doug grew up."

"Do you know if her parents still live there?" Laura questioned.

"As far as I know they do," he confirmed.

"Would you happen to know their names, mate?"

"Not off the top of my head. But Clarissa did send them checks each month to help them out for several years before they started returning them unopened. Let me go grab her files." He could be heard setting down the phone again. The three occupants in the room looked at one another.

"With a little luck, Sophie could be with her family this evening," Laura commented.

"Any idea where this," Remington circled his hand in the air in front of himself, "Catheys Valley is?" His wife and partner gave a shrug of her shoulders.

"No idea, but I know how to find out…" she left the room, returning with a map from their office, as Bernard picked up the phone again.

"Delores and Douglas Jensen, Senior," Bernard provided as soon as he picked the phone.

"We appreciate the assistance, Bernerd," Remington answered.

"No thanks necessary after what you and Mrs. Steele did for Clarissa and I a few years back," the man dismissed.

"I'll call you tonight, Bernard," Mildred chimed in.

"I'll talk to you then. Love you, Aunt Mildred."

"I love you, too, kiddo."

With that the call was disconnected and Laura picked up the phone, dialing information. In less than a minute, she depressed the speakerphone button on the handset and lay it down between the three of them again as the phone rang on the other end.

"Good morning, the Jensen residence," the voice of a soft spoken woman came over the phone.

"Good morning," Laura greeted in return. "Mrs. Jensen? Mrs. Delores Jensen?"

"Yes, this is Mrs. Delores Jensen. May I ask who's calling?" the woman requested.

"My name is Laura Steele," Laura introduced herself. "I'm a private detective from Los Angeles." She paused, despising that she might be making official notification to someone's parent of their child's very serious injuries. Remington rubbed her shoulder in support and nodded that she should continue on. Taking a breath, she plowed ahead. "I'm sorry to be the one to inform you, if you haven't been already, but your daughter was attack—"

"I have no daughter," Jansen cut in, her honey soft voice suddenly going cold as ice. Laura stumbled and looked to Remington.

"Mrs. Jansen, Remington Steele here," he stepped in. "You'll forgive us if we've called in error, but the information we were provided was that you are the mother of Clarissa Jansen, approximately thirty-three years of age, strawberry blonde hair, green—"

"She's not the daughter we raised. When she chose to become a whore in defiance of God's commandments, we washed our hands of her," she answered, bitterly. "She made her bed now she can—"

"Mrs. Jansen, forgive me for interrupting, but her injuries are quite grave, life threatening even," he broke in.

"You reap what you sow," she responded. "I will not question God's will or the form of retribution He chooses to—"

"Mrs. Jansen, your four-year-old granddaughter, Sophie, witnessed your daughter's attack. She's frightened, withdrawn, and needs her family," Laurie interrupted, only to be left speechless and shell-shocked by what the woman said next.

"The bastard is no grandchild of mine," the woman's voice rose in response, spitting out each word. "As I told the woman when she announced she was with child, she'd be better off to get rid of it, rather than to bring a child with such a mark upon itself into this world. I'll not have the devil's spawn darken our doorstep. Turn it over to Children's Services, cast it out, it's no concern of-"

Laura hung up the phone before the woman could finish her thought and stormed from the room as two pairs of eyes followed her. Remington swallowed hard, then stood and rubbed at his face, as Mildred sputtered with outrage.

"That… that… holier than thou… cold… callous…" Mildred ranted. "I'm of half a mind to get in my car, drive to this Catheys Valley and let her have it! She dares to refer to herself—" He held up a hand, stopping her.

"Understood, and I feel much the same," he commiserated, opening the oven and dropping the tarts on the counter to cool. "I'd better see to Laura. Would you mind playing host should Monroe and Jocelyn arrive before we come back down?"

"Go. Take care of Mrs. Steele. She doesn't need to be upset at a time like this. I've got it," she assured him, reining in her own emotions.

"Thank you, darling." He leaned down and bussed her cheek before departing to find his wife.

He found her in Olivia's room, sitting on the edge of the bed, plaiting Sophie's hair, as Olivia questioned her.

"Mommy, why are you crying?"

"I'm not, sweetie," she answered in a voice that belied her upset. "Just a little something in my eye, that's all." She wrapped an elastic band around the end of Sophie's braid.

"Livvie, why don't you take Sophie downstairs, mo stór, and tell Auntie Mildred Da said you may have one," he held up a single digit, "… cookie a piece to tide you over until we eat, hmm?" Olivia's blue eyes lit up and her pony tail swished from side-to-side as she eagerly nodded her head.

"Okay, Da!" she answered, excitedly, as she grabbed Sophie's hand. "C'mon, Sophie!" she encouraged, dragging the other little girl with her from the room.

"Laura… love," he approached her quietly, reaching for her hand as he sat down on the edge of the bed next to her. In a flash, she was pacing the length of the room.

" _Who_ says such things about _a child_? Refers to them as an _it?_ " she demanded to know. " _Their grandchild?!_ Is that what it was like? Did your so-called _family_ members say such things about you?!" He crossed his legs, and leaning one arm over a knee, gesticulated with his other hand.

"Some. Others less overtly, but it was still felt," he confirmed. "Look, Laura, working yourself up about it, isn't going to change people such as that, but I'd wager the babe is feeling the ills of your upset." She stopped pacing and, tilting her head back to look at the ceiling, pressed her fingertips to her forehead.

"She's just a child… _a baby_ … Remington. Grandparents who see her as devil's spawn, her own father denying who she is to him, maybe even giving his men thumbs up to…" she drew in a harsh breath "…eliminate his own daughter." She blinked her eyes furiously for several seconds, then dropping her hands, resumed her pacing again. "How am I supposed to react?" He stood and stepped into her path, gently grasping her upper arms then rubbing his hands up and down them.

"Well," he approached carefully, "We could start with being thankful that Sophie didn't overhear what was said, hmmmm?" She let out a huff of breath and averted her head, but didn't resist when he drew her into his arms, resting her forehead against his chest instead.

"I know we agreed we wouldn't take on any cases that we knew from the outset may pose a risk to us." He blew out a short breath, knowing what was coming.

"But…"

"We can't trust the LAPD to get it done," she importuned, as she left his embrace to pace again, her hand emphasizing her points as she spoke. "A dirty Deputy Chief, two cops under his command who have attempted to kill a witness to Castoro's crime, at his direction. We have no idea how deep the corruption spreads, how many cops are involved. And until Castoro and his goons are caught, are put behind bars, neither Clarissa nor Sophie will be safe." She came to a halt again, crossing her arms around herself. She looked at him, her eyes pleading with him to understand, even as her face reflected the guilt she was feeling at rescinding on their agreement. "I know I gave you my word… But I just wouldn't be able live with myself if anything happened to that little girl because we looked the other way." He stepped to her again, and drew her back into his embrace. Closing his eyes, he nodded his head, then pressed a kiss on top of hers.

"You wouldn't be Laura Holt Steele if you could," he intoned. He took a deep breath and released it slowly, resignedly. "Alright, on two conditions." She tilted her head back to look at him.

"And those are?" she questioned. His eyes turned steely grey, and he gave her a look of stern consternation she rarely saw on his face.

"You can take lead on this, but you will, _at no time_ , be directly involved," he stipulated. She nodded her head slowly, then more rapidly.

"I understand." He frowned and shook his head.

"I'll be needing more than that before I agree to what amounts to insanity on our parts," he refused. "I need your word." She reached up and lay a hand against his cheek.

"Remington, _I know_ our child has to come first," she assured him. "I give you my word. And the second?"

"If ever I feel the risk to our family has become too great, we walk away. No arguments. No questions." Her brows furrowed at the idea of handing anyone, even him, that much control. But on reflection, she knew that he was right. They couldn't save the world, but they could at least keep their tiny part of it safe.

"Alright," she relented. "No arguments, no questions." Taking her face in his hands, he lifted her chin, and kissed her hard and then released her, slinging an arm around her waist and guiding her towards the door. "We should have company at any minute, if they've not arrived already," he reminded her.

"There's one more thing," she hedged, bringing his feet to a halt. She turned to face him, her chin tipping up and her resolve painted on her face.

"And what might that be?" he asked warily, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck in response to look he knew meant she would not waiver in her intent on whatever it was she had set her mind to.

"We'll neither be 'casting' Sophie out nor turning her over to the system. She's staying with us, until we know she's safe and Clarissa is well enough to care for her again." She'd astounded him many times over the years and once again she'd left him completely gobsmacked. How many women would demand they care for the child of the woman her husband had once attempted to marry? What else could he say but…

"You're an amazing woman, Mrs. Steele." He drew her to him, and dropped a tender kiss upon her lips. She smiled up at him when their lips parted.

"You're not so bad yourself, Mr. Steele," she returned with a dimpled grin. She turned again to leave the room, then looked back over her shoulder. "Be prepared to hand your credit card over to Melina, _Xenos_ , because we're about to make her day and set her loose in the stores." He chuckled softly.

"Of course, we are," he agreed. For if there was anything he knew about his partner and wife, it was one voluntary shopping excursion on a day was akin to a miracle. But two? Only if the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels.


	19. Chapter 18: It Takes a Village

Chapter 18: It Takes a Village

Brunch had been a lighthearted, enjoyable affair. Taken outside under the soft rays of the sun on a tepid winter's day, and served buffet style, the meal allowed the adults time to intermingle while Olivia, Sophia and Kai – Monroe and Jocelyn's two-and-a-half year old – intermittently ate at the small children's table set up just for them, or played in the sandbox beneath the fort of the swing set. Laura had kept a close eye on Sophie throughout the meal, taking some comfort in the fact that while she remained as quiet as she'd been since her arrival, she was at least eating her meal, giving her one less thing to worry about when it came to the little girl.

Monroe and Jocelyn had provided some very welcome good news midway through the meal – they were expecting their third child, due to arrive in late August.

"Who'd have thought twenty-years ago, my old friend, that you I would sitting down with our wives one day, discussing with vigor our second and third children who were on their way – and congratulating one another, no less?" Monroe had laughed.

"I certainly wouldn't have envisioned such for myself," Remington admitted openly, with a warm laugh of his own, "But I'd have wagered even money that you would find yourself exactly thus." Monroe guffawed at the notion.

"Are you saying I was any less committed to the life of the bachelor than you yourself were, Mick?" he challenged. Remington raised a brow in answer.

"If I recall correctly," Remington mused aloud, "It was I who was wholly committed to not seeing the same woman more than a time or two," Laura snorted and rolled her eyes at _that_ , "While it was yourself who'd spend months at a time with a single woman, whilst dubbing her, quite proprietarily I might add, either your 'girlfriend' or 'lady love.'"

"Speaks to the romantic in me, nothing more," Monroe refuted, while taking a sip of his mimosa from the champagne flute before him.

"Mmmm. Perhaps. As I noted, even money," Remington conceded. "But it wasn't outside the question you'd one day find yourself wedded, bedded with a houseful of little tykes. It was simply a matter of you finding the right woman, and you certainly did that." He lifted his glass and silently toasted Jocelyn, who smile warmly at him in return.

"That, I did," Monroe agreed, lifting Jocelyn's hand and brushing a kiss across her knuckles. "A lady more fair there never was."

"Oh, I might have to disagree with that," Remington laughed again, eyeing Laura.

"So, tell me, how many more little ones are on the horizon for the two of you?" Monroe asked, his eyes shifting from Remington to Laura. She held up a hand to stop this discussion before it could even begin, recognizing a game of one upmanship when it began.

"You can go ahead and fly the flag of the victor on that one already, Monroe," she stepped in. "Remington and I agree: two's our limit. If he has any hidden plan on competing with you in this particular area, it will be with his _second_ wife." Monroe laughed heartily at this while Remington frowned.

"Planning to toss me aside yet again, are we, love?" She grinned pertly at him.

"Only if you intend to flex your virility against Monroe's." He reached for her hand.

"Ah, I see. Well, then I've nothing to fear as I'll be quite content to be outnumbered three to one by my ladies," he answered smoothly. She raised her brows and shifted pursed lips to the side, before tilting her head and responding.

"Then you may yet find yourself searching for wife number two after all, since this child," she rubbed her tummy, "Is a boy." Mildred and Melina laughed at their continuation of a month's long debate on the gender of their child.

"There is a sure-fire way of knowing what that baby is…" Mildred suggested for the umpteenth time.

"Not happening," the couple answered in unison.

"After all, what's life…" Remington began.

"Without a few surprises," Laura finished for him with a smile, then turned to look at Mildred and Melina as they uttered the response at the same time.

"I take it they say this often?" Jocelyn inquired, with a laugh.

"Oh, only three or four times a week," Mildred answered, as Melina nodded in agreement.

"It makes it very difficult to plan a shower, not knowing," Melina scolded them lightly, not for the first time.

"Or to get the nursery ready," Mildred added, then gave them a stern look, "Which they've not even started yet."

"The nursery's done, if you recall," Laura reminded her. After much discussion, they'd agreed Olivia would be moving to the second guest room, and they'd be retrieving crib, mobile, swing and bedding from the attic, reestablishing the nursery as it once was.

"But Olivia's room is not," Melina pointed out. Laura grimaced at that reminder. The baby was due in less than two months, yet they hadn't even chosen a paint color for Olivia's new room. She glanced at Remington.

"We'll have Bernice clear our schedules for Friday, and see to it over a long weekend, eh?" he suggested. She nodded her agreement, given she wouldn't be of much assistance if they waited much longer, then glanced to the backyard where the girls and Kai continued to play. "I know the guest room's not very large, but we might need to figure out how to fit a second twin bed in there, at least for now," she commented aloud. His eyes followed hers and he nodded.

"I'll measure the room this afternoon, then we'll sit down this evening and plan the room accordingly." Monroe and Jocelyn glanced at each other.

"A second bed? How long is Olivia's friend staying with you?" Jocelyn braved to inquire. This time it was Laura and Remington who exchanged glances, while Mildred and Melina watched avidly. Melina had been awaiting the 'full story' they'd promised the evening before, while Mildred had been privy to the conversation with Delores Jensen. With a nearly imperceptible shrug of a shoulder, Laura acknowledged it was time to discuss events of the day prior and the decision made earlier.

"Sophie's not precisely a friend of Olivia's," Remington began. "And since we'll need all of your assistance, at least for the foreseeable future, I suppose it's time for you to know the whole of it."

Remington and Laura alternated filling in everyone on what had happened from the start, as well as what they'd learned from Clarissa the evening before. The reactions of the parties had varied throughout the recount, from shock, to anger, to stunned disbelief, but when they'd narrated the conversation with Delores Jensen that morning, all at the table shared the same feeling of utter disgust for the woman and the things she'd said.

"So," Remington, concluded, reaching for Laura's hand as he did, "We've made the decision that Sophie will remain with us, where we know she'll be kept safe until Clarissa's healthy enough for her to return home." Mildred took to her feet at the announcement and rounding the table pressed a kiss on each of her kids' cheeks.

"I'm proud of you two kids," she praised, adding as she returned to her seat, "You know you can count on me for whatever you need."

"We were hoping you'd say that, Mildred. Do you have any plans for this afternoon?" Laura asked.

"I'm meeting Rusty for dinner at seven, but I'm free until then. What do you have in mind?" She looked to Remington then back to Mildred.

"We need to visit Clarissa this afternoon, see what additional information she can give us, if she's up to it." A line appeared between her eyes as a thought occurred to her. "We'll need official guardianship papers if we're going to enroll Sophie in pre-school tomorrow. If you wouldn't mind making some calls, see if there is anyone that could meet us at the hospital around three?"

"Oh, honey, on a Sunday? That would truly be a work of God," Mildred pointed out. Laura pursed her lips, then smiled.

"Reach out to Walter Gallen, RJ Stonewall, Tracey Crockett and Charles Dumont," she ticked off the names of some former clients. "They all have attorneys on retainer, and are paid to be available at a moment's notice. Without providing too much information, see if we might impose on one of them. We'll, of course, pay all fees."

"I'll get on it right now," Mildred agreed, rising from her chair to go into the Steele's home office where she could pull up the client directories.

"I can watch the girls this afternoon," Melina volunteered. Remington reached into the rear pocket of his jeans and retrieved his wallet, extracting their personal American Express and Discover cards. He flashed them in the air.

"Actually, Lina, Laura and I thought we might ask you to do a bit of damage to these," he announced. "Sophie will be needing a wardrobe. I'd hesitate to announce she's staying with us, by dropping by Clarissa's flat to pick up her belongings." Melina grinned from ear-to-ear.

"An _entire_ wardrobe?" she verified, almost giddily, as the stores she would go to were already flitting through her head.

"From head-to-toe." He mouthed something to Laura and she nodded. "At least enough to tide her through for the next month or so." Jumping up from the table, she claimed the cards from him.

"Can I use the M3 as well?" He chuckled at the request. Why any man would wish to quash her spirit, he'd never understand.

"You know where the keys are," he confirmed. Monroe waited until after Melina departed before speaking.

"And ourselves, old friend? What is it you need from us? It's yours for the asking," he offered.

"Right now, information, mate. If you could have your men feel out some of the people who might be in the know about the hit on Westside," Remington requested. "Who the victims were, who the specific target might have been, what game the gang was running at the time. Anything at all could be of tremendous value in helping us identify Castoro's need to make a point."

"I'll touch base with my most trusted men this afternoon," Monroe promised, then thrummed his fingers against the table. "Mick, we're speaking corruption at a high level within the LAPD. Can you be certain this detective who brought the girl here is clean?" Remington blew out a breath at question and turned to Laura to field the question.

"I'd be surprised if he wasn't," she answered. "He's always been a straight arrow. But, that said, we won't be sharing what we know with him, or dispelling his belief Remington is Sophia's father."

"A wise decision, in my mind," Monroe approved. "Might I suggest we station a couple of my men to keep watch over the school while the girls are in attendance?"

"I hadn't even thought about that," Laura admitted, blowing out a puff of air. She turned to her husband. "Remington?" He shrugged a shoulder.

"Couldn't hurt if done discretely," was his opinion.

"Alright, but discretely is the key word here," she emphasized. "I don't want either the school or the girls alarmed."

"They'll never know my men are there," he assured.

The couples left talk of current affairs behind and instead turned to talk of family, as they all leant a hand in the cleanup. When Mildred returned to announce Tracy Crockett's family attorney, Lawrence Watkins, would be awaiting them at the Surgical ICU, with guardianship paperwork in hand and ready to be executed, it signaled the end of the afternoon as business now called.

* * *

Remington cut the engine to the Jeep and turned in his seat to look at Laura. For the second time in as many days, she volunteered to ride shotgun rather than drive. It was such a rarity for her, that it gave rise to alarm, only added to when she remained silent, a hand against her stomach, during the trip to Cedars-Sinai. He fingered back a stray strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear.

"How's Baby Steele?" he inquired, laying his hand beneath hers on her stomach. The baby gave his hand a hard poke.

"Active, very active," she commented, wryly.

"Has she been this busy the entire trip?" he wondered, as it would more than account for Laura's pensiveness, as she often turned inward, and simply enjoyed the times their child was making its presence known.

" _He_ has. My guess is he's reacting to that second tart," she laughed. The baby shifted again beneath Remington's hand moving from her left side to up and right.

"Do you want to take a few minutes?" She laughed again.

"No, what I _want_ is a bathroom. He's been tap dancing on my bladder the last fifteen minutes."

"That would seem to require us vacating the Jeep and going inside, hmmm?" She leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes.

"It would,' she agreed, still not moving.

"Talk to me, Laura," he urged. She shook her head, and pressed a hand over her eyes, trying to gain control of the emotions that were no doubt helped along by the pregnancy. She took a minute to collect herself before speaking, while he waited her out.

"I just don't understand," she finally answered, huskily.

"Understand what, love?" he pressed, picking up her free hand, and pressing his lips against the back of it, before clasping it in his. She shook her head, then dropped the hand covering her eyes and turned to look at him.

"All these _strangers –_ Monroe, Jocelyn, Mildred, Melina," she waved her hand between the two of them, "Us, willing to do whatever we need to keep this little girl safe. But her _own family_ …." She took a deep breath again and let it out in a rush. " _What is wrong with people?!_ " she wanted to know. He drew in a breath of his own and let it out slowly, patting the hand still held in his.

"I don't think there are any easy answers, do you?" he wondered, aloud. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes again. "Haven't we learned by our own experiences not everyone places the same emphasis on family as we do, the people we surround ourselves with? Your father, the so-called families that took me in until I ran? I suppose it's all a matter of what people see as their priorities: themselves, financial gain, or even an unyielding, vengeful God. Maybe the best we can do, is to never be seduced by the same… to cling to what is truly most important,' he theorized.

"It's not enough…" she murmured, morosely.

"Perhaps not, but it's all we have." After several seconds, she finally nodded her head and squeezed the hand holding hers.

"You're right," she conceded, looking at him again. "But it doesn't mean I have to like it or that I'll ever understand."

"I wouldn't expect any less." He lifted her hand again, and brushed lips to palm. "Shall we?" he inquired, nodding towards the hospital. With one last breath drawn and let out, she released her seat belt.

"Yes. But when we're done here, Mr. Steele," she looked at him pointedly, and he rounded the Jeep and offered her a hand down, "We need some quality time together, both as a family and just us." He palmed her cheek in his hand and leveled avid blue eyes on her.

"I couldn't agree more, Mrs. Steele." He drew her into a short embrace, pressing his cheek against the side of her head. She pulled away and smoothed her hands down her shirt.

"Alright, let's get this done."


	20. Chapter 19: Of Princesses and Knights

Chapter 19: Of Princesses and Knights

Laura and Remington stepped off the elevator on the sixth floor and walked towards the Surgical ICU waiting room where they were to meet Tracy Crockett's attorney, Lawrence Watkins. Only, they never made it that far when a voice called out…

"Mr. Steele!" as a man in a white lab coat approached them, a smile on his face. "I have to say, I was hoping to never see you on this floor again."

"Ah, geez," Remington muttered under his breath, before forcing a smile onto his face. Beside him, Laura moaned her unhappiness as well. Of all the people to run into, it was the surgeon who'd cared for Remington after he'd been shot four years prior. "Dr. Bennett," he held out his hand, "I'd hoped the same," he greeted as they exchanged handshakes. Placing a hand on the man's shoulder, he guided him towards, a quiet portion of the wall. "I'm afraid I need to ask you a favor."

"What's that?" Bennett asked, good-naturedly.

"A client of ours, Clarissa Jensen, is here in the ICU—" Remington began.

"Yes, I'm well aware of the case, as I'm covering Dr. Van Der Linden's service today. Absolutely horrible what was done to the woman."

"It is," Laura stepped in. She made a spur of the moment decision. "And her thee year old daughter, who's in our custody, witnessed the attack."

"My God," Bennett breathed.

"As far as the staff is concerned, my wife and I are Laura and Richard Blaine, sister and brother-in-law to Ms. Jensen," Remington explained. "It's imperative we maintain those covers, so the people who did this are unaware her daughter is in our care."

"You think they'd harm a child?" he asked, disbelievingly.

"Yes, we do," Laura answered, firmly. "She's a witness to a crime that could put the perpetrators behind bars for the better part of their lives." He held up a hand, indicating they need to say no more.

"You have my word. I won't divulge who you are."

"How is Clarissa doing today?" Remington inquired.

"We've upgraded her status from grave to critical but stable, so we're optimistic," the doctor filled them in.

"Stable enough for her to meet briefly with an attorney to sign some guardianship papers for her daughter?" Laura asked.

"If you keep it brief," he agreed. "As you're aware, it's critical that she get her rest as she heals."

"All too well," she answered.

After collecting Watkins from the waiting room, they slipped into Clarissa's room, having the attorney wait outside until they could talk to her. The young woman was dozing lightly at their arrival and startled, then groaned, when she heard unfamiliar steps in her room. Laura imagined such jumpiness would be a part of Clarissa's life for a long time to come, much like the effects of her time spent as Roselli's captive had stayed with her for months afterwards. To this day, a strange envelope in the mail, a call with only breathing on the other end, was enough to leave shivers skittering down her spine. She wondered if, subconsciously, she'd ever fully trust Roselli would not somehow get around the system and come after her again. Certainly, the occasional nightmare reminded her this thought was always lurking somewhere within her.

"How's Sophie?" Clarissa asked immediately.

"Safe," Laura assured her. "She's with Mildred right now." She took the other woman's hand in hers. "She misses you though." Clarissa closed her eyes at the assurance.

"We contacted your parents," Remington informed her. Her green eyes flew open in alarm and she laughed shortly, morosely, then drug in a breath at the shot of pain through her chest.

"You shouldn't have bothered. They never wanted her born in the first place," she sighed.

"So we understood," he commiserated. "Laura and I have discussed it. Sophie will remain with us until you are well enough to bring her home, if that's what you wish." Her brows furrowed and her green eyes moistened.

"Yes. Yes," she repeated a second time. "Thank you." He waved Watkins into the room.

"Clarissa, this is Lawrence Watkins," Laura introduced. "He is on retainer with one of our former clients. He has some guardianship papers for you to sign, so that we may act on Sophie's behalf while she's with us. I promise you, the papers won't be filed with any Agency which might inadvertently reveal Sophie's location. They'll simply be used to register her at preschool, at our doctor's office should she fall ill."

"Where do I sign?" she asked without hesitation.

"I'll need some information first, ma'am," Watkins informed her, stepping forward. "Child's date of birth?'

"March 19, 1987."

"Father's name?" Laura squeezed her hand gently, in warning.

"I have no idea who her father is," Clarissa answered. The attorney's only reaction to that was a pair of eyes which flickered to her face, then back to his paper.

"Your date of birth."

"December 25, 1958." He switched his attention to Laura.

"Your full name, including maiden, and date of birth."

"Laura Elizabeth Steele. Maiden name Holt. January 28, 1956." He scribbled out the information in the appropriate area, then moved his eyes to Remington.

"Yourself?"

"Remington Chalmers Steele, August 27, 1952."

The attorney gave a sharp nod after writing out the information then lay the paperwork on top of his suitcase, then rounded the bed, and handed her his pen. "Sign here," he indicated a place, "Here," and another, "And here," he indicated a final spot. After instructing Remington and Laura where to sign as well, he picked up the paperwork, slipped it into his briefcase. "My secretary will be at my home in an hour. She'll notarize the guardianship paperwork, then will make three official copies, one for each of you. If you'll provide me your home address, I'll have them messengered over to you by no later than nine this evening." Laura recited the information, then bid the attorney goodbye.

"Clarissa, how are you feeling?" Remington asked.

"Please, whatever you do, don't let her father take her," she pleaded, patently ignoring his question. Laura gave her hand another squeeze, then waited until Clarissa's green eyes met her brown ones.

"We give you our word: We won't allow him to take her, and we'll protect her as though she's our own," Laura pledged.

"He's never wanted anything to do with her. If Gabriel or his men take her…"

"It won't happen," she answered adamantly. Clarissa swallowed hard then nodded her head. "Clarissa, how exactly did you meet Castoro?"

"The night Keyes had me arrested," she sighed. "I was angry with myself for having fallen for that stunt he pulled and for giving him my card. I felt like I had let Mr. Steele down, didn't know for almost three weeks that he hadn't been deported. I was upset, and drew a lot of attention as I walked out of the station in my dress. Gabriel stopped me, asked if I was okay. I couldn't tell him what really had happened," she shifted her eyes away from them, "So I lied, said I'd been stood up at the altar. He invited me to coffee and we talked for hours. I had no idea he was a cop then."

"I wondered if he might be _the one_." She looked at Laura for understanding. "We went out every night that week, and on our sixth date he told me he loved me. I believed him. And I knew I loved him, enough so that I decided it was time to go straight. I enrolled in a beautician's course at the community college, lived off my savings. We hadn't even been seeing each other for a month when I realized I was pregnant. While Mr. Steele and I had been planning…" she gave Laura a look of apology when she flinched at her words "... I'd cancelled all my appointments as they'd been more than covered, and there was so much to do in such a short period of time. And after, I'd been so wrapped up in Gabriel…"

"And he didn't take the news well when you told him," Remington said, recounting what she'd told them the evening before.

"I kept it to myself, for a long time. I wanted to be sure this was real. I was nearly three months along when I finally told him," she explained. "By then he'd had my background checked, saw my history of arrests, knew what I had been doing up until I met him." She blinked her eyes rapidly. "He wanted me to have an abortion. I refused, tried to end things. It's then that the threats started. If I left, he'd make certain I'd never see the baby once it was born. He had the power and connections. By then I knew he did, who he was in the LAPD, so I stayed. He made me quit school, had his men watching me so I couldn't work. There was no way out. Eventually, I decided as long as I had Sophie, that was all that mattered. I learned to see him as just another client, nothing more."

"What made you decide to leave?" Remington asked, quietly.

"Sophie. She began asking questions. Who Gabriel was. Why he didn't like her. Was she a bad girl." She shook her head. "I couldn't let her grow up like that. I contacted Bernard. I still had a few small investments I hadn't cashed in, hoping they'd mature into more. They wouldn't last us long, but long enough to take us far away, where he couldn't find us. I'd figure things out once we got there. He found out I was planning to leave, sent his men."

"How? How did he find out?" Clarissa laughed sharply.

"Just like I was being watched, he was also monitoring my phone calls, had the apartment bugged." Her face, what could be seen of it, crumpled for a long second, then she pulled herself back together. "I should have known."

"You said you knew too much. Was he aware?" Remington questioned.

"He thought he had me under his thumb, so there were many things he'd talk openly about in my presence: Protection money to be picked up and shipments due to arrive. Those types of things. No specifics, just reminders to get the job done," she provided. "But there were a few times when he thought I was asleep or in the shower when he'd speak freely. That's how I found out he was behind Westside."

"You told us he had a point to prove," Laura jumped in. "What was that point?"

"I don't know," she held up a hand and dropped it. "He used… lines that reminded me of a bad movie. Whoever it was had been 'skimming off the top', were 'taking cuts' thinking he wouldn't figure it out." She lifted the hand and dropped it again. "He never said exactly what, although it was clear it was costing him money."

All three heads turned as the door to the room was pushed open and a nurse stepped through the door.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I need some time alone with the patient," the nurse apologized. "If you could come back in an hour or so?"

"Of course," Laura readily agreed, standing. She was, unfortunately, an old hand at nurses, their duties, and the priority of those duties. "We'll be by tomorrow around lunch to see you. I'll give mom your love," she told the younger woman, squeezing her hand, hoping she'd understand.

"Thank you. And tell her I'm thinking about her all the time." Laura nodded her head.

"I will," she promised, then let Remington escort her from the room.

* * *

Remington and Laura relieved Mildred of her childcare duties and sent her home to prepare for her date, then gathered the girls and took them out to the veranda where all four piled into the hammock. As the hammock rocked softly, the sun kissed their skin and a light breeze cooled them, Laura read to the girls from _A Children's Garden of Verses._

" _Up into the cherry tree  
Who should climb but little me?  
I held the trunk with both my hands  
And looked abroad in foreign lands._

I saw the next door garden lie,  
Adorned with flowers, before my eye,  
And many pleasant places more  
That I had never seen before."

From _Foreign Lands_ to _My Shadow_ and through _The Little Land_ and _My Kingdom_ she read, her melodic voice both soothing and stirring at once. Through it all, little Sophie never made so much as a peep, tucking herself against Laura's side, her head resting beneath Laura's shoulder as she diligently sucked her thumb. Olivia, with her front pressed to Sophie's back, on the other hand, continually piped in excitedly.

"Do we have a cherry tree, Mommy? I wanna climb a cherry tree!" she squealed.

"Sorry, sweetie, not a cherry tree to be found."

During a reading of _At the Sea Side:_

" _When I was down beside the sea  
A wooden spade they gave to me  
To dig the sandy shore._

My holes were empty like a cup.  
In every hole the sea came up,  
Till it could come no more."

Olivia flipped over and tugged on the front of Remington's shirt.

"Can we go to the beach, Da? Pretty please?" He tweaked her nose playfully.

"Another day, Livvie Bee. It's near on dinner time now,' he answered, grinning when she stuck out her lip in a pout, and flounced back over to her other side, to lift pleading blue eyes to Laura.

"Mommy—"

"You heard your Da, Livvie," she intoned, cutting her daughter off at the pass, then rolling her eyes in Remington's direction. It was a new, favored game of their three-year-old, hoping when one parent said no, the other would say yes.

As Remington prepared supper, Laura and the girls took over his screening room to watch _Sleeping Beauty_ for the countless time. Olivia sat cuddled up into Laura's side, while Sophie lay her head on Laura's lap, curled up in a ball, still sucking that thumb.

"Sophie, you have hair like Aurora's," Olivia observed, playing with the other little girl's braid.

"That's very observant, Livvie," Laura praised. Sophie shifted her head so she could see Olivia.

"Your hair is like Snow White's," the child volunteered. Laura drew in a short breath at hearing the little girl speak for the first time, and battled to keep her voice neutral.

"You're correct Sophie. Livvie's hair is black like Snow White's," she confirmed.

"I like princesses, Sophie," Olivia enthused. "Do you?"

"Yes," answered the other little girl simply. Olivia tilted her head back to look at Laura.

"Mommy, can we watch Snow White next, puleeeeeese."

"Yes, Livvie Bee," she agreed, stroking her hand against her daughter's hair. "Yes, we can."

If watching _Snow White_ and _Sleeping Beauty_ with the girls would help draw Sophie out of her shell, then they could watch the movies two, three, a dozen times as far as she was concerned. Who cared that the thought her daughter might gain the mistaken belief women needed to be rescued by men made her perpetually grind her teeth?

Remington seemed to be of the same mind, for dinner that night was completely child-oriented fare, at least for him: chicken strips coated in Italian spices then lightly browned in extra virgin olive oil, fried potato wedges sprinkled with fresh parmesan and parsley, broccoli with cheddar sauce, followed by authentic ice cream sundaes. The children left the table stuffed to the brim, and a bit on the sleepy side. Olivia heartily protested when Laura announced it was bath time, as the little girl was familiar with the routine, and bath meant bed afterwards. Laura was not to be swayed, however, guiding her daughter up the stairs with a firm hand on her back, while reminding her gently…

"You have school in the morning, sweetie, which means you need a good night's rest."

Olivia had forgotten her petulance at those words, as she _loved_ school where she painted, colored, sang songs and played with all her friends. As Laura shampooed then rinsed their hair, washed faces, arms and feet, Olivia chattered throughout, regaling Sophie with stories of her preschool. Melina arrived back home amid the melee, carrying a half-dozen bags, making Remington's brow lift when she went out to the car for a second trip… then a third.

"I said a month, Lina, not until she marries," he commented, with a tug at his ear.

"I've barely purchased enough for just a month," she countered. "You've clearly no idea all that a little girl needs. Play clothes, school clothes, a dress for a special occasion which might arise, tights and socks to match her dresses, shoes to match and undergarments for beneath it all. Pajamas and nightgowns to sleep in, a bathrobe and slippers to accompany those. A coat, hat and mittens for cold days, a jacket for cool, a rain slicker and galoshes for wet days—" He held up a hand stopping her rambling, whilst still peering at the bags.

"I wasn't aware _Kiddie City_ ," he emphasized the name of the store, "Sold clothing or shoes," he remarked pointedly.

"They don't," she shrugged. "But every little girl needs a doll to call her own, a stuffed animal to cuddle with at night, and I added a couple of Barbie dolls, just for good measure." She removed the baby doll from a bag, and began unpackaging it. "Where are the girls?"

"Laura's tending to their baths," he provided, distractedly, as he realized they'd need a second dresser for Sophie's belongings, even if it was for just a short stay, given Olivia's were already stuffed to the point of exploding. He left the living and retrieved tape measure, sketch pad and pencil from their home office, reminded that he'd promised to design a plan for Olivia's new room that evening. When he returned to the living room, he found the doll Lina had been unpackaging thrust into his arms, along with a large, fluffy bear.

"Laura will need Sophie's night clothes and underwear for after her bath," Melina announced. "If Sophie's father treated her as you described, she'll have no idea how to interact with you… whether you will be just another man who treats her as invisible, or, more worrisome, harms women and children such as those men she watched injure her Mama. You will give her these when she goes to bed. Coming from you, they will go far towards making her understand there are men that care for children." He was rendered silent for a moment, and left staring at his little sister. It had never occurred to him, and he'd lay odd not to Laura either, that Sophie might see him as something to be feared for no reason other than his gender. That Melina had possessed such insight?

"Thank you," he told her, and bent forward to buss her on the cheek. "The thought, I'm embarrassed to say, never occurred to me." She smiled up at him impishly.

"Which is why it is good that I am here," she teased. "When she's in bed," she reminded a final time, then went upstairs to help Laura with bedtime preparations.

Remington stalled a couple of minutes then went upstairs to the guest room. Six quick measurements later, he sat down with his sketchbook, and pencil blazed across the paper, as he sketched out the dimensions, windows and door placement. Once the girls were asleep, he and Laura could work out the details from there. He then joined Laura, Melina and the girls in Olivia's room, leaving his sketchpad, pencil and measuring tape on Olivia's dresser. The girls were already cuddled up together in the single bed, Laura perched on the side finishing Dr. Seuss's _The Foot Book_ , their bedtime story on the evening.

He laughed as Melina's belly growled for all the room to hear.

"I've a plate keeping warm for you in the oven, Lina, and a sundae awaiting you in the freezer," he informed her. Her eyes lit up.

"An offer I can't refuse," she said, giving her stomach a rueful look as it growled again. "Good night, Livvie." She leaned down and pressed a kiss to her niece's cheek. "Good night, Sophie." She repeated the sign of affection for the little girl. "Dream of the stars and the moon, little ones."

"Sophie," Laura closed the book in her hands, and lay a hand on the little girl's head, stroking it. "We saw your Mommy today. She is feeling _so much_ better. She asked that we tell you she loves you _very_ much and thinks about you all the time." Sophie's brows drew together, and her eyes moistened.

"I miss my Mommy," she whispered, after removing her thumb from her mouth. Laura nodded, and stroked a hand over her hair and down her back.

"I know you do," she answered, softly. "And she misses you _very_ much as well." Remington saw his cue and sat down on the bed next to Laura.

"Perhaps a couple of new friends could help when you're lonely, eh?" he suggested, revealing doll and bear. Her eyes widened and while she never spoke a word, she accepted both from him, clinging to them. Behind her, Olivia threw back the sheet and bedspread and hurtled herself from the bed.

"I'll get my babies too, Sophie!" she exuberantly announced and ran to pull her own doll and bear off the top of the toy box where they always perched, before diving back into her bed. Sophie turned over to face her and they snuggled down with their 'babies'.

"Sing, Mommy, sing," Olivia urged. Laura smiled, and reached over to lift her little girl's hair back over a shoulder.

"Only if you close your eyes." Pursing her lips, she sought a song from the recesses of her mind when inspiration struck.

" _I know you,_

 _I walked with you one upon a dream._

 _I know you,_

 _The gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam."_

By the time she finished the last verse of Sleeping Beauty's _Once Upon a Dream,_ the girls were already yawning. Smoothly, she transitioned to Snow White's _A Smile and a Dream._ The girls were fast asleep by the time she completed the second song, and she took Remington's proffered hand. Standing, she leaned down to brush a kiss lightly against each girl's head then watched as he did the same before turning on the baby monitor, picking his belonging up off Olivia's dresser and followed behind her to their room. She turned to him, when he shut the door, and pressed up on her tiptoes to give him a sweet kiss. Tossing what he was carrying on a nearby chair, he rested on hand on her hip, and slipped the other beneath her hair to cup her neck.

"Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but what was that for?" he smiled down at her, then grew serious when she threaded her fingers through his hair and drew his head down for another, longer kiss.

"What you did for Sophie… I hadn't even thought about it." He laughed low.

"As much as I'd like to take credit, I'm afraid your thanks are misdirected," he answered. "It was all Melina's doing." Her lips quirked upwards in a smile.

"But I don't want to kiss Melina," she replied impertinently. He laughed silently, and drew her lips back to his.

"Good to know," he murmured against her lips.

He teased her, nibbling and nipping at her lips, before he final captured them fully. Pressing his hand between her shoulder blades, he urged her to step closer, then deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the back of her teeth, stroking her tongue. It was a kiss meant to entice, to seduce, but he hadn't even had to expend the effort, for seduction was already on her own mind. When their lips parted, sultry brown eyes dazed from passion, met with equally hungry blue eyes.

"I'm in the mood for a bath," she announced quietly. His lips found hers again briefly.

"Care for company?" Her lips traveled along his neck, leaving sparks in their wake.

"Always." Stepping from his embrace, she clasped his hand in hers and lead him to the bathroom.


	21. Chapter 20: Inspiration

Chapter 20: Inspiration

"No more, Lau-ra," Remington scolded lightly, using his foot to turn off the water. Laura liked her bath water near to the point of scorching, and while normally he didn't mind, when she was with child, he was adamant that she keep the water within reasonable temperatures given the recent literature on pregnancy and excessively hot water temperatures. Stubbornly, she reached for the hot water handle and turned it back on again full blast.

"You're being ridiculous," she protested. "We've been in here for a half hour and the water's gotten cold." He raised a disbelieving brow at the pinkened skin of her back. His foot once again emerged from the water, and turned the handle to off.

"Then, we'll find other ways to heat up, hmmmm?" he asked, trailing a line of kisses over her bare shoulder while a hand slipped beneath the waterline to caress her sensitive waist. With a sigh, she settled back against him as he'd hoped.

They'd spent the first part of their bath, simply reconnecting as he'd stroked either his bare hand or wash cloth over her rounded tummy, relaxing both mother and child. All business had been set aside, it had been time wholly, completely for them, the majority of their conversation centering on the little one soon to come then planning an overnight getaway on the sailboat after the babe arrived and the weather warmed.

"When do your father and Catherine plan on arriving?" she wondered now. Behind her, he frowned.

"Really, Laura, I hardly wish to discuss my father, as I'm _trying_ to seduce my wife," he griped. Her hand caressed his outer thigh.

"Your wife doesn't _need_ to be seduced, Mr. Steele." Her voice dropped and she murmured softly, "I want you." Behind her, he smiled wide, as the hand beneath the water inched upwards the caress, tease, the underside of a breast.

"Ah, Laura, after five years those words still do wonderful things for a man's heart," he mumbled gruffly, as his lips explored the soft skin of the long column of a neck. She tilted her head back to give more access and closing her eyes on a hum, threaded a hand through his hair.

"That's good to know," she answered breathily, then gasped as his hand cupped her breast, his thumb brushing over a puckered peak, "Very good to know."

She shivered at the contact, then shifted away from his hands to turn and straddle his lap. She wanted to feel his skin beneath her hands, to taste his skin against her lips and tongue. She wanted to be the seducer, not the seduced. Her eyes held his and she drew her fingers through his hair, down his neck, over his shoulders then back and down his chest. Her lips found his, tasting him long and slow as she drew her hands upwards again, her fingers settling behind his ears, caressing. She felt his body shudder beneath her as he hummed deep in his throat, and surrendered himself to her to do as she wished.

Ah, he cherished these times, when she sought to show him what he meant to her, what he did to her… when she lost herself in him, in his body, bearing her heart all the while. It made a man feel secure in the love of his woman… and made his heart fall once more into the palm of her hand. As for Laura? She loved that he hid nothing from her, his hands alternately clutching her hips when her tongue blazed along his shoulder, then burying themselves in her hair, as his body arched and he groaned deep in his throat when her mouth settled beneath his ear to suckle and tease. Her heart beat faster whenever he muttered her name with a touch of the accent of his youth turning it melodic, or whispered against her lips as they kissed…

"Ah, mo ghrá, ní bheidh mé in iúl riamh a théann tú."

There was a time when she'd doubted that was true, but she'd been secure in the knowledge that he was fully hers for a long, long time now, and she reveled in it. Which only made her resolved to show him all the more…

* * *

Laura shook her head, adamantly, where she lay on her side, facing him, before the fireplace in their bedroom. After they'd dressed in nightclothes and robes, they'd reopened the door to their bedroom so they were immediately available if either of the girls were in need.

"It's too crowded. They'll barely have room to move around, let alone play," she pointed out, indicating the minimal blank areas in the sketch lying on the floor between them. "Why haven't we noticed how small the guest rooms were before?" she lamented. By the time they'd added a second single bed to the rendering of Olivia's new room, they'd had to eliminate one of her nightstands for the furniture and toy box to fit in the room, and even then there was no room to add a second dresser for Sophie.

"It's only for a short time, Laura," he reminded her. "It will suffice until Sophie returns to Clarissa and in the meantime, the living room will simply have to double as their play area." She blew out a frustrated breath, feeling like they were shortchanging both girls by shoving them into an area so small.

"Maybe we should revisit the subject of bunkbeds…" she suggested, tentatively.

" _Out of the question_ ," he answered, adamantly. "As we've already agreed, we can't put our little daredevil in the top bunk, as she'll see it as a challenge to fly off, and neither of us wish to make an explanation to Clarissa should Sophie fall out." She plopped her chin into her hand, staring desolately at the paper, then suddenly lifted her head and smiled.

"We could move them into our studio. They'd have all the room they need…"

"Lau-ra," he said her name, plaintively. "Need I point out this room is larger than that which I shared with Zeth, Christos _and_ Melina? The very bedroom you refused to allow us to disassemble? The girls will be fine for such a short period of time." She stared at the sketch, then finally rolled to her back.

"You're right," she agreed, reluctantly.

"Now we've only the paint color to settle upon," he hinted. She'd spent two months pondering the color for Olivia's room, and had yet to declare what it would be. As her brows furrowed in thought, he turned to a fresh page in the sketchbook and began to draw. As he'd done during Laura's pregnancy with Olivia, he'd begun a series of drawings depicting her burgeoning stomach. Setting down his pencil, he reached for his pajama shirt and released the buttons from beneath her breasts downward, then spread it open.

"Ahhh, Laura, there is no sight quite so glorious as you with child," he hummed. They were words, or some similar offering, that he said often to her, yet they never lost their sincerity… or potency. She turned her head, and smiled softly at him, reaching up and cupping his cheek in her hand. He leaned into the touch, then remained still as she studied him, her thumb eventually stroking the fullness of his lip, as she grew increasingly pensive.

"Remington…" She said his name and nothing else. Her heart was hammering in her chest and she wondered if it would always be so nerve wracking to allow herself to be fully vulnerable by sharing her innermost thoughts about them.

"Yes, love?"

"Thank you." His brows drew together in puzzlement.

"For what?"

"I know I don't say it…" her brow furrowed, and she added, "…at least not as often as I should." The frown cleared and she looked at him resolutely. "But times like now remind me of what a remarkable man you are. You are a _great_ partner, my best of friends, and you make me proud to call you my husband." A wide, smile lit up his face, thoroughly tickled by the rare compliments. "Even more so, I can't imagine a more loving, giving father for Olivia and Baby Steele. They're fortunate to have you." His smiled faded as she spoke the last and a lump formed in his throat. He had to swallow, hard, before he could speak.

"You may not say it often, but when you do? My God," he breathed, fingering one of the curls she had left untamed for the evening, then leaned down and kissed her, allowing his lips to linger before pulling away. "Thinking about Clarissa again? I thought we'd agreed to set all that aside for the evening. Hmmmm?"

"It's your fault," she accused lightly.

"Is it now?" He guffawed. "And how is that?" With her head, she indicated the sketchpad.

"It's just one of the many ways you express how you feel about your children. They'll always know how wanted they are, how loved... _how important_ they are." She let out a long sigh, as she thought about the little girl upstairs. "Sophie will never have that. _You_ never had that. So many, _too many_ , children don't. And I have to ask myself: how many mothers would get their children out of those situations if they had the means to do so? A safe place to go? An attorney to safeguard their rights as a parent, so some... some... bully couldn't use their children as leverage to force them to stay?" His eyes roamed her face, then the corner of his mouth quirked upwards.

"Why is it I think you've something in mind to change that?" Encouraged, she struggled to sit up. Pushing himself into a sitting position as well, he leant her a hand, then watched in bewilderment as she stood and walked to her night table.

"I do," she confirmed. "Could we talk about it here, though?" She indicated their bed. "My back hurts."

"Of course," he agreed easily, then joined her on the bed, resting his back against the headboard. He urged her to sit between his legs and lean forward, so he would work out those kinks she'd referred to as they spoke.

"What've you in mind?" He wondered.

"It's going to cost you," she warned. He chuckled behind her.

"Us. You mean us." It was still a habit of hers to refer to bulk of their assets as 'his' as the majority of their portfolio came from his escapades prior to him becoming Remington Steele, his inheritance from Daniel and then entitlements settled on him by his birthright... not to mention his significant and profitable investments in years since.

"Alright, us," she agreed. "We are the recipients of an obscene amount of money each year because of that entitlement of yours, money we neither need nor will ever be able to use."

"Why do I think that's about to change?" He posed the question as his hands settled at the small of her back, his sensitive fingers searching out kinks and knots. She laughed softly.

"Oh," she drew out the word, "I don't intend to send you to the poorhouse," then added in an undertone, "Not that I could." He laughed soundlessly at that. "But I think we could employ a _very small_ percentage of it to make a difference, while, for the most part, falling in line with your investments," then she added for good measure, "And Mildred will be praising you for the write-off."

"Lau-ra, just share what you have in mind," he prodded. She blew out a short breath.

"I'd like us to consider buying six or so three to four bedroom houses, outside of LA." She unfolded the map. "In small, quiet communities such as Wrightwood, Warm Springs," she pointed on the map to the areas she was speaking of. "Property values are reasonable, and while removed enough from LA no one would think of looking there, they're still in close enough proximity for us to make spot checks and assure they're being maintained."

"And what are we to do with these houses?" He questioned.

"I'd like to work with various domestic abuse shelters, maybe even schools to get referrals for women with children trapped in situations they can't get out of because they don't have the financial means." His hands stilled, then began moving again. She wasn't sure if that was a good sign... or bad... but she certainly had his attention. "We'll provide a fully furnished home rent free and guarantee their utilities for the first six months, will help them with job training or to find a job. After the six months, they have the option of staying on, renting the house at fair market value, in which case we buy another, or they can decide to move-on, opening back up that property. Ultimately, I'd like to have a dozen homes housing mothers and children in distress."

"Safe houses, so to speak." She nodded, wincing when his fingers found a particularly tender spot.

"And who's to run this venture, foundation, charitable endeavor whatever you wish to call it?" he questioned. "We've already our hands full with the Agency, and, as selfish as it might be, I don't want the cost to be time with our children... _or you._ "

"I don't know," she admitted. "Melina, maybe initially, if she's interested. Jocelyn? She's bored out of her mind with her modeling career on hold indefinitely."

"Anything else?" She gave him a face over her shoulder, then nodded. "And that might be?"

"I want to hire an attorney, a family law attorney, retained to this..." She waved her hand at the air, unable to come up with the word, "… endeavor... full-time to be used to expressly to help those families currently housed with legal issues, such as custody, and to take on case-by-case basis on referrals from schools and agencies, where a man is using children as leverage to force a woman to stay."

"Alright. I've a question or two." She sighed again.

"I thought you might. What are they?" She asked, prepared for him to argue to the costs involved.

"If this... endeavor... is linked to us, formed by us, it would seem to me we know all too well a property search of our names could reveal the location of these homes," he observed. "If that link is ever discovered, it could easily lead to any family's front door. Any idea how to keep that from occurring?" He continued to work on her back as she contemplated the question in silence as he knew she would. Finally, she stirred.

"We could start a dummy corporation, and investment group," she proposed, "Or title the properties in the names of people we trust with no association to the Agency or endeavor. Donald and Francis, my Mother under her maiden name, just as an example."

"Depending on the housing markets in the area you suggest, it could be a large financial investiture initially," he noted. "Are you prepared for those expenditures?"

"Will they be any larger than the four places we've bought for our interns to use during their apprenticeships?" She argued, then added, "Given those places were in the heart of Los Angeles, I'd be willing to bet we could buy six homes for less than what we spent on those."

"True, true," he conceded.

"I'll even commit twenty-five percent of the Agency's net monthly profit to the endeavor," she added, trying to gain some leverage.

"Don't be ridiculous," he rebuffed. "As you said, we've more than we could ever spend coming in from my entitlements alone. It's a good idea... inspiring, actually." She sat up fully and turned to face him, smiling.

"Do you really think so? I know there are details that need to be worked out, but..." He leaned forward and kissed her swiftly.

"I do," he answered firmly. "Now, can we put _all_ business matters aside for what's left of the evening and focus upon what's most important?" She gave a decisive nod of her head.

"Where were we?" She asked aloud, then recalling stretched out on her back, and spread open her shirt so her belly was fully exposed. "Right about here, wasn't it?" Chuckling, he retrieved his sketchpad from the end of the bed.

"Indeed, it was," he confirmed, as his eyes fastened on her tummy when it rippled from left to right. Dropping the sketchbook for the moment, he lay his hand on her stomach and enjoyed the movement of Baby Steele under his hand. "I shouldn't think the tarts would still be giving her fits this evening.

 _"He_ is showing his appreciation of that sundae, _"_ she sighed. "But it was worth it." Her lips tipped upwards, and a mischievous glint came to her eyes. "Care to make a wager, Mr. Steele? Girl or boy?"

"Oh, I suppose that would depend on the terms you have in mind." She glanced towards their open doorway then wagged a finger for him to bend down until his ear was next to her mouth. As she whispered, his brows nearly reached his hairline. "Any?" She nodded her head. "Even..." She waggled her brows at him. "I believe we have ourselves a wager, Mrs. Steele and I've a lot to consider over the weeks ahead." He picked up the sketchbook and his pencil began flying across the paper. "We're running out of time to make a few decisions, love. Have you decided if you'll get the epidural this time 'round?"

"Yeah, I have," she answered. "After our talk with Dr. Adams, and reading the most recent medical literature, I'm going to go ahead and have it." He carefully schooled his face, so she wouldn't observe his relief at her words. The very idea of witnessing her in as much pain as she'd been during Olivia's delivery made him positively queasy.

"Have you made a final decision on Godparents?" They'd been torn between Zeth and Calista or Monroe and Jocelyn. In the end, she'd left the final decision to him.

"I've found I'm rather fond of the idea of both my brothers being the children's godparents," he acknowledged. "It makes it nice and tidy, to begin. But even more so, the idea of having both the children tied to Greece appeals to me."

"Me, too," she admitted. The only deterrent from making that decision in the first place, was concern Melina would feel left out. But Melina already held an advantage over her two older brothers: she was able to spend every day with her niece, given her current living arrangements. "And your father?"

"Arriving next weekend, actually. He and Catherine wish to spend some quality time with Olivia before the babe comes along."

"We may have to build-"

The thought was left unfinished as whimpers were broadcast into the room by the baby monitor. Laura, with a bit of a struggle, got to her feet.

"I'll see to Sophie," she volunteered. "Finish your sketch."

By the time Remington had put the finishing touches on his sketch, the room across the hall had long before fallen silent. Picking up the measuring tape, he went downstairs to return them to the office, then began the process of locking up the house for the evening. When he passed the kitchen, he paused and laughed with amusement. A sheepish Laura peeked her head out from around the refrigerator door.

"He's hungry." He leaned his backside against the island, and crossing arms and ankles, his eye twinkled with amusement.

"All that tumbling about gave Baby Steele an appetite, did it?" Her only answer was to scrunch her face at him. "So, what's it to be tonight? Pickles dipped in whipped cream, or cottage cheese covered in chocolate sauce and relish." With a shake of her head and a roll of her eyes, she closed the refrigerator carrying with her a plate bearing a hotdog left over from the prior night's cookout... covered in strawberry jam. Setting the plate on the counter next to him, she forked off a bite.

"Wanna bite?" She asked, holding up the next forkful. He shriveled his nose.

"My taste buds have yet to forgive me for my foolishness in sampling your chocolate mousse cake and green olive concoction... which, I must remind you, you insisted was 'divine'."

"It was." Her brown eyes sparkled with amusement up at him.

"Perhaps to the pregnant amongst us," he retorted. She pointed her fork in his direction.

"That's your fault," she countered, pertly. As predicted, a goofy grin spread across his face.

"Mmmmm, that it was," he admitted. "However, I might add, not without help." He tapped his lips against her cheek and relieved her of her empty plate. A quick wash and dry while Laura helped herself to a cup of water, and they were ready to return upstairs.

"What's this?" She asked, pausing at the dining room table, and picking up a manila envelope which hadn't been there when she'd gone upstairs earlier. Prying open the flap, she removed the paperwork. "Guardianship papers. Did you know-"

"Must've come while we were elsewise engaged." She merely hummed, studying the papers as he directed her with hand to back up the stairs and to their room.

"I'm not an expert on guardianship matters, by any means," she mused aloud, "But these seem rock-solid in my eyes." She handed him a set of the papers. "Would you mind putting these in the safe? We'll drop a copy off at the hospital tomorrow morning on our way to the preschool, and then once Sophie's enrolled, keep the second set in the safe at the office."

Paperwork safely put up, the couple retired, each speculating how many times they would be roused during the too short night.

* * *

It had been a busy morning, between getting two three-year-olds dressed, fed and ready to leave for school, not to mention themselves. Melina, as she'd been since her arrival, had been a godsend once more, assisting with the girls. She'd even gone so far as to insist she'd stay at the daycare for a couple of hours, to make sure Sophie acclimated as best she could. To that end, Laura flipped her the keys to the Jeep, insisting she'd ride with Remington.

After a quick stop by the hospital, where the guardianship papers had been dropped off with the charge nurse in Surgical ICU, Sophie had been enrolled in school with minimal trouble, but many a curious look. The couple was not particularly interested in answering any questions as to how they'd come to be in guardianship of the little girl, and side stepped each. Melina would pick up the girls at three, then tend to them until Laura and Remington returned home from work. They'd accompanied the girls to class then had waited until Olivia was showing Sophie around the classroom before leaving.

They'd arrived at the office at after nine, and asked Bernice to inform the entire staff to meet in Remington's office at once. By the time they'd made themselves their morning glasses of tea, everyone had filed in and taken a seat. With a bit of help in the form of Remington's hand, Laura managed to wriggle up to sit on the corner of the desk, he then taking a seat in his chair. Without adieu she began.

"On Saturday evening, Detective Jarvis showed up at our home with a surprise in the form of a three-year-old child, under the mistaken belief she was Mr. Steele's daughter by another woman." Brandon and Zack exchanged looks, while Marvin, BB and Kiara shifted uncomfortably. Only Celek gave no indication of what he was thinking. "Jarvis was intentionally misled by a former client, that child's mother, in an attempt to protect her daughter."

"Why-" Zack began to ask, only to be cut off when Laura held up a palm at him.

"Let's save any questions until after we're done." When a glance confirmed all were in agreeance she continued forward. "Our former client, Clarissa Jensen, was attacked in her own home on Saturday evening by two men, hired by the father of her daughter to kill her. Sophie, that child, witnessed the attack and can potentially identify the perpetrators. Needless to say, she is a very traumatized little girl." She looked at Remington to continue.

"Sophie's father is a high-ranking official with the LAPD," he stepped in on cue. " _A corrupt official_. The victim has confirmed the men who attacked her are cops, although she can't identify them by name. We have no idea how deep the corruption spreads, so for now, we trust _no one_ within the LAPD. We neither want them to discover we are investigating, nor to put a stop to our investigation. This investigation will be the number one priority of our Agency until we can prove Sophie's father is at the helm of this particular ship, so speak."

"We've had the opportunity to twice now interview Ms. Jensen," Laura resumed the lead. "She has identified the man behind everything as Deputy Chief Gabriel Castoro." Murmurs went up around the room, and she held up her hand again. "During their years of... association... Ms. Jensen has overheard enough that she now has become a threat to him and his organization, whatever that is. She can testify the gang hit in Westside last summer, which instigated weeks of unrest, was not, in fact, gang retaliation but the work of Castoro, although we don't know the reason why."

"Mildred, your division will focus on locating every account, holding, property and the like that Castoro has, here in the states and elsewise. Once identified, make use of his financials to determine an estimate on profits gained by way of his shady dealings," Remington instructed.

"Brandon and Kiara, given your backgrounds, we'd like you to reach out _discretely_ to any contacts, associates, and find out if anyone knows why Castoro had it in for the Westside 13. We need to figure out what he has his hand in and to be able to prove it." Laura assigned.

"Monroe is working a similar angle on his end," Remington added. "And I'll be reaching out to some contacts of my own." He ceded the floor to Laura.

"Zack and Celek, we'd like you to sit on Castoro when he's not at headquarters. If he goes out to lunch, we want to know with who. If he has someone stop by his home, we want to know who," Laura instructed. "Brandon, Kiara, the two of you will be trading off every other evening with them, so one team is not stuck with all the late nights." The pair nodded their heads in agreement. "If you get enough identifying information on anyone, recognize anyone, I want that information right away so Mr. Steele and I can run full background on them. Brandon, for right now, any security installations you and Kiara are overseeing will be taken over by Mr. Steele." Laura paused and looked around the room. "Now, any questions, comment, insights?"

"Earlier this month, Castoro was featured in the LA Times prior to the Policeman's ball," Zack spoke up. "I seem to remember mention of an ex-wife, his current wife, his children and even his parents. It may be a start for Mildred, BB and Marvin as place to dig in." Remington and Laura exchanged a look. They'd had no idea Castoro was married.

"Mildred, ask Bernice to pull the article out of the Times online." She frowned, thoughtfully. "Tell her once you have that, I'd like any and all articles on Castoro from all major newspapers in LA."

"You got it," she agreed. "I think we'd be smart to see if he has any accounts in Clarissa or Sophie's names as well."

"Valid points, Mildred," Laura commended.

"What about the cases we're currently working?" BB inquired.

"I'll work with Mildred on the cases white crimes is handling and will keep them moving forward. Celek, Zack, any cases you're working will be handed off to Mr. Steele and myself. Given the way things stand," she rubbed her belly and gave them a rueful look, "I won't be out on the streets. There may be times that we'll have to utilize some of Monroe's most trusted men to sit on Castoro instead until your cases are wrapped up."

"And the child?" Celek finally spoke up. "Shouldn't someone be… standing guard… over her, if she's a witness, as you say she is?"

"Already taken care of," Remington advised.

"We're in for some long days ahead of us," Laura observed. "All of us. I won't pretend it'll be easy, but our—" She paused at the intercom on Remington's desk buzzed. He plucked up the headset off the base.

"Yes, Mrs. Wolf… I see… Give us one minute to step in Mrs. Steele's office and we'll take it in there." He hung up the phone, to watch Laura already wriggling down off the desk with the aid of Marvin's hand.

"Bennett's on line one," he informed her.

"We'll just be a minute," she told the group. "Talk amongst yourselves, brainstorm. We'll be right back." Remington escorted her into her office, closing the door behind them, and they exchanged positions: she seated in her chair, his hip perched on the corner of her desk. A long, slim finger punched line one, placing the call on speaker.

"Steele, here," he intoned.

"Mr. Steele, Dr. Bennett. Is Mrs. Steele with you?"

"I am," she answered for herself. "Is everything alright, doctor?" Silence extended for seconds, and the couple exchange worried glances.

"I'm sorry to inform you, but Ms. Jensen went into respiratory distress at eight-forty-three this morning, and despite our best efforts, we were unable to save her," he announced, solemnly.

"But she was doing to much better yesterday," Laura protested, as Remington reached for her hand. "Her breathing was _fine_."

"She'd been making remarkable strides given the gravity of her injuries," Bennett concurred. "Enough so, that after rounds this morning I'd planned to move her out of ICU into a post-surgical room." He paused and they could hear him release a long frustrated sigh. "I don't want to sound paranoid…" He let the thought trail off.

"But…" Remington elongated the word, clearly indicating the man should finish the thought.

"Given her status during rounds this morning at seven and the abrupt change. I'm not saying it's impossible but… Laura's hand flinched within Remington's.

"Dr. Bennett, are you saying—" she began, for him to cut her off.

"I've ordered a complete autopsy based on my suspicions that she died of a pulmonary embolism, one not caused by natural events," he finished, then thought to add. "I've secured the personal belonging she came in with, if you'd like them." Remington glanced at his watch.

"Yes, yes, I'll send round my sister, Melina Androkus to pick them up," Remington answered. "No one will recognize her."

"Very well. Just have her ask for me at the desk, and I'll inform to staff to page me as soon as she arrives." There was a long pause. "I don't know what to say, other than I'm terribly sorry."

"It's not your fault, mate. Thank you for letting us know. Bye-bye." Punching the line and disconnecting it, he stood, and reached for Laura's other hand, helping her to her feet. She leaned her forehead against his chest and he rested his chin atop it.

"She's dead," she said desolately. "No matter how I felt about her after—"

"Let's not go there, eh?" he advised, rubbing a hand over her back. She nodded her head in answer, then stroked her hands up and down against his sides as she leaned back her head to level troubled brown eyes on him.

"How are we going to tell Sophie?" Equally distressed blue eyes met hers, before lifting a hand and rubbing it against his mouth while shaking his head.

"I don't know. I don't know," he admitted. "Although I think the question that begs to be asked is: what happens to her now?" It was her turn to shake her head.

"I don't know," she answered, drawing out the last two words, sadness threading them. "But she's not going _anywhere_ until we know she's safe."

"Agreed." He touched his lips to her forehead, then indicated his office with the nod of his head. "Perhaps we should update the staff, then send them on their way? Hmmmm?" She stepped out of his embrace, and smoothed her hands over her dress.

"I suppose we should," she agreed. She couldn't recall anything in recent history she wished to do less than make this announcement.


	22. Chapter 21: Answers, Evidence & Question

Chapter 21: Answers, Evidence & Questions

Remington pulled the Porsche up in front of a seedy bar in an even more dilapidated neighborhood. He'd worked through the lunch hour, testing and making adjustments to the security system the Agency had contracted to install in the Tannenbaum residence. Although the Agency rarely agreed to residential installations, when said residence was just shy of twenty-eight thousand square feet, and was home to several million in priceless artifacts, works of art and jewels, one tended to make an exception. After Mrs. Tannenbaum had arrived home one afternoon to find a thief had no only circumvented their current system, but was strolling about their bedroom helping himself to her personal baubles, Mr. Tannenbaum had demanded from his cronies their input on who was the best-of-the-best in security. With the exception of one acquaintance, the hands down opinion had been the Remington Steele Agency. They'd initially turned him down, citing the prohibitive costs, but when he'd named an astronomical figure he'd be willing to pay… well, the Agency was at his disposal.

Now, however, with the system signed off on and the monitoring company on duty, the contract was secured, the money earned and it was time to set his sites on another task. He spotted his quarry at the pool table, undoubtedly doing his best to make the other… er, gentleman… part with whatever blunt they'd wagered on the game. With a grin, Remington crossed the room and gave the cue stick a quick thwack on the heel as his quarry was preparing to shoot, sending the cue ball careening into a pocket, scratching on the eight ball. Game, set, match… loss. His hapless victim spun, raised a fist… then laughed.

"Steele! I'll have you know that little stunt just cost you a hundred big ones," Weasel announced.

"I'll play you for it," Remington offered.

"Ah, no," the other man laughed. "You're forgettin' I know how you play. I'll just take the green." He looked around the bar then returned his eyes to Remington. "Where's Mother Superior?"

"Back at Nonnberg Abbey, trying to keep Maria in line, I imagine," Remington quipped.

"Huh?"

" _The Sound of Music_ , Julie Andrews, Christopher Plummer, Twentieth Century Fox, 1965. A young novice struggles…" He waved a hand, as it was clear Weasel simply wasn't getting it. "Never mind. Laura's not in the condition to be running about in places such as this."

"Don't tell me…? Naw," Weasel drew out the word. Remington merely grinned. "I guess congratulations are in order then, huh? They _are_ , aren't they?"

"They are indeed," Remington confirmed, then held out a hand towards the seating area. "Up for a pint?"

"You buyin'?"

"I am."

"Then I'm up for two." The two men stopped by the bar, ordered up two beers on tap and moved to a quiet area at the back of the bar. "Well, I know this ain't no social call, cuz the missus wouldn't let you out to play in the middle of the day. Whatcha lookin' for, Steele?"

"Information, mate. What's the word on streets about our illustrious Deputy Chief Gabriel Castoro?" The beer mug paused halfway to Weasel's mouth, then he took his time taking several long pulls of the draught before speaking.

"Steele, I'm tellin' you as a friend, let that one go, pal." Remington lifted and dropped a careless shoulder.

"Can't do that, mate."

"I'm tellin' you, this ain't no time for you and your missus's do-gooder routine. People who cross him have an odd habit of findin' themselves dead," the man warned.

"Laura and I've a little girl not much older than our own in our care. Two night's past she watched as two of Castoro's men tried to silence her Mum," Remington told him. "The woman died this morning, and there's only one witness to the crime."

"Aw, damn," Weasel mumbled in disgust, then, emptying his beer, signaled to the bar for another. "No chance you can just dump this kid on someone in Outer Mongolia and forget about it?"

"Not a one," Remington confirmed, then held silent as the bar keep dropped off the requested beer. "What's the man's game?"

"A bit of everythin'. It started years ago when he was still on the beat with protection: for a piece of the take, he'd assure certain individuals they wouldn't come under the watchful eye of the boys in blue. A bit of misdirection here, a bit of false evidence there, evidence disappearin' when called for, a tip off they was being watched. Harmless crap at first, chop shops and the like."

"And now?"

"I'm getting' to it." He took a drink of his beer. "Bout the time he was tagged for bigger things in the LAPD, he'd decided he wanted a bigger piece of the action. By then he'd gathered others like him to do his dirty work and things had taken a nasty turn: people who'd crossed those he was protectin' and you'd have yourself a little accident, or meet up with the wrong person on the street. Word spread: you want to keep breathin', steer clear of Castoro's game. "Then 'bout years back he decided he wanted even more. Expanded his business. Began importing-"

"Importing," Remington jumped on the word. "Drugs?" Weasel shrugged.

"Coke, smack. Already had a set up in weed, crack. Hand picked certain up and comers, took over their business, supplied them with better stuff, larger quantities. Put guns in their hands. Who better to supply you with guns then the one in charge of overseein' their destruction at the LAPD, huh?"

"And the Westside hit last year? Have you heard rumors of him being involved?" Remington pressed.

"Naw. But wouldn't be surprised. Rumor on the streets is they's one of his. So if they crossed him…" Remington nodded.

"Any idea how deep this spreads into the LAPD?"

"Best guess? I've heard rumors of a dozen, maybe two. Can't say for sure." Remington set down his mug, having barely drained a quarter of it, then standing, withdrew his wallet. He slid two hundred dollar bills across the table.

"For the game, and the information." He flipped up a twenty between his fingers, then dropped it on the table as well. "For the pints. Thanks, mate."

"Steele!" Weasel called him as he turned to leave. He faced the man again. "Be careful, pal. This guy won't hesitate to wax anyone who gets in his way."

With a nod, Remington departed.

* * *

Remington parked the Porsche two blocks down from his intended target. Stepping out of the car, he slipped out of his suit jacket, removed his tie and lay them on the passenger seat, then reached for his leather jacket. Slipping it on, he zipped it three-quarters of the way then opened the car's trunk. Dumping out Laura's gym bag, he folded it up and shoved it in his pocket. With a quick glance around to assure he hadn't captured anyone's attention, he slipped between the two closest buildings and began to weave his way towards his destination. Five minutes later, he kneeled before the door of an apartment, picks in hand, and a few short seconds later, eased the door open.

He hadn't conferred with Laura about his plans, neither wishing to worry her nor wanting to invite her to stand in his way. Yet, since Bennett had informed them of Clarissa's death, he'd been plagued by the thought that Castoro would try to cleanse her apartment of any evidence of their relationship as quickly as possible. It was not only imperative to secure proof of that relationship, but to retrieve something for Clarissa's daughter to remember her by, some piece of her mother that she might take with her into her future.

Slipping inside he closed the door, then stilled, listening for any sign that someone else might also be present. When the air didn't so much as stir, he went in search of the bedrooms. The apartment was fair sized, with a large living room, separate dining room, decent sized kitchen, and two bedrooms which leaned towards the larger size. He turned into the master bedroom, and dropped the bag on Clarissa's bed. He said a quiet thank you to Clarissa, for she'd made proof of her relationship with Castoro easy to come by in the form of a five-by-seven picture sitting in full display on her dresser. Tossing it into the bag, he fingered his way through a small, black jewel box sitting atop the bachelor's chest. Added to the bag were a pair of cufflinks inscribed with GAC, and a pricey watch, also inscribed on the back with ' _Gabe, All My Love Always, Clarissa_.' The dresser itself yielded little in the way of proof, with a few shirts, changes of undergarments, and more casual outfits stored within.

Clarissa's own jewelry box yielded a small bounty for her young daughter: A pair of mid-quality diamond studs, a pair of emerald drop earrings of similar quality with a matching ring, and a gold cross hanging from a delicate chain. These were tucked into an inside pocket of his leather jacket for safekeeping, while he left simple gold chains behind. A woman's Rolex inscribe ' _Love_ , _Gabriel_ ,' found its way into the bag. While the inscription itself didn't prove a link between Castoro and Clarissa, he suspected Mildred would be able to cull credit card records and find proof of the watch's purchase, thus proving the association. In her closet, Remington found a strong box. He didn't pause to examine the contents, merely added it to the other items in the bag.

With the bedroom yielding nothing further, he peaked into Sophie's room. Unable to resist bringing her back a few of her own belongings, he added to the bag a well-worn baby blanket that lay tossed on her bed and framed picture of her and Clarissa that was perched on her nightstand. A vinyl album sitting in wait on the small turntable resting atop a stand in the corner the room caught his eye, and, upon finding the sleeve, he added _Bedtime Stories by Rosemary_ to the bag.

A quick inspection of the living room provided nothing of value, yet the upturned coffee table, dark stains, puddled and streaked across the light colored carpet and the end of a chair was a stomach-turning testament to what had occurred in this apartment only a few short days before. If the wide circumference of the staining was any indication, Clarissa had fought her assailants, and fought hard. To give her little girl time to escape? He thought so, upon finding a raggedy eared stuffed bunny lying on the kitchen floor. It, too, was added to the bag.

Drawings by Sophie which hung on the fridge in the kitchen couldn't be passed up. But it was what he'd found adhered under a kitchen drawer that had his heart beating a bit faster: a small audiotape, such as went into one of those mini-recorders the Agency had employed on occasion.

After the dining room yielded nothing of use, Remington departed the apartment, and a few minutes later, put the Porsche in gear and sped away.

* * *

Laura leaned back in her desk chair and rolled her neck, trying to loosen the kinks, before standing and walking towards the private breakroom she and Remington shared.

"Sorry, Baby Steele," she apologized aloud, while rubbing a hand over her stomach, "But Mommy is in desperate need of some caffeine." She poured herself a cup of coffee, adding in a dollop of cream and a couple of teaspoons of sugar, then as an afterthought, opened the mini-fridge and retrieved a wedge of sharp cheddar Remington kept wrapped and waiting there for her. Settling back in at her desk again, she continued reading where she'd left off.

She'd managed to sweet talk a clerk in the courthouse's record's department into couriering over a copy of the filings and transcripts from Castoro's divorce from his first wife, Antonia Maria Giancarlo. The divorce process had been acrimonious, to say the least, and had required a half-dozen court appearances and more than a year's time to put to bed. While the divorce was filed under the standard 'irreconcilable difference', testimony from Giancarlo had raised issues of adultery, emotional abuse, heavy-handedness with their two children – a girl born in seventy-six and a boy born in seventy-seven – while she'd made additional claims of Castoro hiding joint assets to prevent their division during the property settlement phase of the divorce. Castoro, on the other hand, had claimed absolute fidelity (which had drawn a passionate _Ha!_ from Laura's lips), a firm but fair hand with his children and had sworn under oath that all marital assets were openly visible to the court.

In the end, the Court had awarded Giancarlo the family home, one of the vehicles, and equitable division of marital assets minus half the equity in their home. A pittance of a monthly alimony amount had been awarded, along with reasonable child support, which Castoro had paid, without fail, in the six years since the dissolution's finalization.

Yet, despite Castoro's insistence Giancarlo had far overestimated their worth, within six months he'd purchased a home in Beverly Glen and had traded in Ford Bronco for a new Jaguar, all of which was in contrast to his annual salary. And, eighteen months after signing that decree, he'd married Gloria Hunt, ten years his senior and loaded in old family money. Any oddities about his personal finances from there forward would have come to an end… if anyone thought to question them to begin with.

Tossing the last of the documents aside, she planted her elbows on her desk and dropped her head into her hands. She'd be lying if she denied Sophie and Clarissa hadn't been on her mind all day. How do you explain to a three-year-old that she'd never see her mother again, let alone the concept of death? What were the possible psychological consequences of taking her to her mother's funeral… or not taking her? Even more so, what would happen to Sophie now? Her uncle was dead. Her grandparents saw her as the Devil's seed. Her father had denied her since the moment he'd found out about her. What would come of her?

She liked to believe herself a good person, a giving person. But there were days like today when she ran headlong into what she saw as her own character flaws. She'd like to believe she was the type of woman who'd open her arms wide and say emphatically, 'Sophie is ours now.' No matter how much she wished this is who she was… she wasn't. Maybe if they didn't have their second child on the way. Maybe if she could be confident that as the parents of three they wouldn't be forced to sacrifice any part of this carefully balanced life they lived. Maybe if she wasn't worried the day would come when every time she looked at Sophie she'd feel that gut clenching pain she'd felt when she'd walked into the Little Chapel of Perpetual Hope to see the man she loved trying to marry her mother.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybemaybemaybemaybe.

But there it was. And what did that say about herself? Was she any better than the so-called 'family members' that had sent Remington on his way again and again? She was deeply afraid she wasn't, and the very person she could count on to tell her truth, was the very person she was most ashamed to admit this shortcoming to.

Letting out a slow breath, she resolved to do the only thing she could: see Castoro and his men behind bars and keep Sophie safe until that happened.

It was simply not enough.


	23. Chapter 22: Unwelcome Guests

Chapter 22: Unwelcome Guests

Dinner in the Steele household had been a rather staid affair. While Olivia was a chatty and animated as ever, and very much oblivious of the tension around her, Sophie had remained her quiet self, and the three adults at the table were all too aware of the elephant in the room: how to tell the little girl her mother was gone. Melina had excused herself a couple of times from the table in order to pull herself together when she became weepy eyed.

Clarissa's personal possessions, retrieved by Melina, had turned out to be a whole lot of nothing: a simple gold chain, matching bracelet, a pair of paste earrings, a generic watch and hair clip. Her clothes had been retained by the police as evidence.

With dinner complete, Melina volunteered to take on bath duty that evening while Laura remained behind in the kitchen to help clean up after the meal. Remington was the first to break the silence.

"We have to tell her, Laura." She stilled, staring straight ahead at the wall for several long seconds, before her shoulders slumped slightly and she resumed rinsing the plate held in hand.

"I know," she acknowledged resignedly. "Any idea how we do that?"

"Not a clue," he admitted, stepping behind her and giving her arms a brisk rub. "But I have something that might ease the news, at least a bit."

"Oh? And what is that?" He gave her a pat on the fanny, which earned him a frown and she, in turn, an impertinent grin from him.

"A moment." Her eyes narrowed on his retreating back as he left the kitchen, but in short order, she finished rinsing the last plate and glass then set them in the dishwasher and depressed the button starting the wash cycle. She was drying her hands on a dish towel when he returned, setting her gym bag on the breakfast bar.

"I don't see how my gym clothes are going to be of help to Sophie, unless you're suggesting a good workout for her to get the endorphins going," she mused. Unzipping the bag, he pulled out the picture from Sophie's room, the blanket and stuffed rabbit.

"A piece of home, perhaps?" he suggested. Laura picked up the well-loved blanket and rabbit, fondling them as she gave him a questioning look.

"Where did you get these?" _Be ready, Steele, old sport. She won't let this one go lightly_ , he braced himself mentally.

"I, uh, may have made a quick stop 'round Clarissa's flat this afternoon," he confessed, with a tug at his ear. Blanket and rabbit still in her hands, she plunked her fists on her hips and straightened to her full height.

"You did _what!?_ " she shouted. Despite his mental preparations, he flinched in answer to the sheer volume.

"Now, Laura…" She tossed the rabbit and blanket on the counter, then wagged a finger in his direction.

"Don't you _dare_ 'Now, Laura' me," she warned. "How many time do we have to have this same conversation before you get it through your _thick head_ that we _don't go into potentially dangerous situations alone!_ "

"Do you hon—" She waved a hand at him, indicating he should be quiet as she paced into the dining room and back again as she yelled.

"Do I really need to remind you only three days ago two men with _very real knives_ were in that apartment?"

"Lau—" She leveled a glare on him that would have most people skittering towards the nearest exit. He merely sighed, then leaned forward and planted an elbow on the counter, resting cheek against fist, waiting her tirade out.

"Do I really need to remind you that we – Olivia, this baby, _me_ – we count in all of this? Do I need to point out we don't know how to tell Sophie she'll never see her mother again, yet you take a risk that I might have to find those same words for _our daughter?!_ What do I have—"

Her infuriated rant came to a screeching halt when she heard Melina gasp in the living room, and first one, then two little girls began to wail. Her eyes rounded, as a hand flew to cover her mouth, horrified by what they'd overheard. At the counter, Remington straightened in alarm, then quickly stepped around the counter to scoop up his little girl who came flying towards him while Melina picked up Sophie, seeking to console her.

"Oh, God," Laura all but whispered, "I'm so sorry." Crossing the room, she took Sophie from Melina's arms and carried her to the couch, cradling her against her rounded stomach. She hummed and rocked her, while in the adjoining room Remington tried to calm their own distraught child.

"Come now, mo stor, what's this all about? Hmmmm?" he hummed.

"Sophie's sad," Olivia sobbed against his neck, tightening her arms around it. One arm held her snuggly to him, while the other hand reached to stroke her head and back.

"It's difficult sometimes when our friends are sad," he commiserated. "But I think what Sophie needs most is not for you to be sad for her, but to help her feel better, eh?" Olivia let out a shuddering sigh, while nodding her head. "Then let's dry those tears, eh, and we'll both go see how we might make Sophie feel a little better." Rubbing her face against Remington's shirt, she lifted her head and stuck a pair of fingers in her mouth.

The pair sat on one side of Laura, while Melina kept vigil from the other. Olivia reached out and grasped Sophie's hand. Some minutes passed before the little girl's tears died down until only a series of hiccups remained. Olivia tipped her head back to look at Laura.

"Mommy, why won't Sophie's Mommy come home?"

The idea of a parent leaving and not coming back was completely foreign to the three-year-old. She was still young enough not to have been exposed to the occasional destruction divorce or abandonment could visit upon a family… or if any of her friends were experiencing it, too young to understand. Her only experience, for that matter, with parents going away were when Remington and Laura took their brief sojourns alone together, and they always, without fail, returned. But now they'd returned full circle to the question of how to make a three-year-old understand the finality of death. Laura freed one hand from around Sophie to draw Olivia closer. She chose her words carefully when she finally spoke.

"Well, Livvie Bee, Sophie's Mommy was _very_ sick, and no matter how hard the doctor's tried, they couldn't make her better." Her daughter's bright blue eyes grew round with understanding.

"Did she _die_ , like Laurie Beth's fishies?" she asked in awe. Laura said a silent prayer of Thanksgiving for little orange fish that seemed to go belly up within a week of bringing them home. She fingered back silken black hair off Olivia's face.

"She did." Sophie quaked violently in her arms, apparently understanding the concept of death meaning something goes away and doesn't come back. Melina rubbed her back, and quietly whispered to her, repeatedly, that all would be fine.

"Then she can get a new Mommy like Laurie Beth gets new fishies!" Olivia exclaimed happily, having discovered the solution. At that bit of three-year-old wisdom, Laura floundered and looked to Remington for help.

"Ah, it's not as easy as all that, mo stor. Mommies are very special people and you can't just run round the corner and pick one up," Remington corrected gently. Her lip stuck out in a pout at that, then her brows furrowed as she tried figure this puzzle out. Several ticks of the clock later, she tilted her head back to look at her father again.

"Where's her Da?" Remington's lips moved soundlessly and his eyes flitted to Laura, as this time it was he who was at a loss for words. Help came from an unexpected source.

"He doesn't like me," Sophie offered in a small voice. At that revelation, all three adults exchanged glances. Clarissa had been worried Sophie was picking up on her father's disinterest, but it apparently went beyond that for the little girl to pick up on his apathy. Olivia displayed a bit of her mother's temper at that… not to mention, need to restore a bit of balance to the world around her.

"He's dumb!" she announced, adamantly.

"Olivia Elena—" Laura began to automatically reprimand her daughter for referring to any adult in such a disrespectful manner, but found herself steamrolled over by her progeny.

"My Da likes you! Don't you, Da?" she commanded an answer.

"Indeed, I do," he confirmed.

"See!" Olivia proclaimed. "My Da can be your Da!" Laura's heart nearly broke at the look of wistful longing that filled Sophie's eyes before she tucked her head back against Laura's chest, closing herself off again. Remington had seen it as well, and abruptly stood, striding over to the breakfast bar to retrieve the items he'd collected for Sophie at her home that afternoon. It had been an excellent opportunity for him to collect himself, for he knew that look in her eyes all too well, having spent a decade of his childhood filled with the same yearning.

"Sophie, I've a few things of yours that I thought you might like," he announced a he sat back down next to Laura, then waited as Olivia wriggled her way back onto his lap. Remaining silent, Sophie turned to look at him, but her eyes lit up when she saw her bunny and blanket in his hands. Reaching for them, she wrapped an arm around her stuffed toy and held the blanket against her face. But it was when Remington held up the picture of she and her mother, that her tears began again.

"Mommy," she keened, then clutched the picture to her chest, turning back into Laura's embrace, her entire body shaking from the force of her grief. Seeing his own daughter' face begin screwing up again, he stood with her in his arms.

"Come, Livvie Bee, Da'll put you to sleep tonight," he told her.

"I want Sophie!" she protested, as he made his way towards the stairs.

"She'll be along soon enough, mo stor. Mommy and Thea Lina need a little time alone with her, and I…" he emphasized the last word, "…need a bit of time with you."

Thirty minutes later, tucked in, bedtime story read, and kisses exchanged, Remington left Olivia sleeping in her bed and rejoined wife, sister and guest in the living room. Melina held up a finger, indicating he should keep his voice low, as Sophie had only calmed in the past few minutes and was now slipping into sleep. Her arm slackened from around the picture and Remington eased it from her grasp. There'd be time enough the following day to decide where best to display the photo for the little girl.

"I'll take her—"

He hadn't even time to finish the thought when the doorbell peeled through the house. Thankfully, sheer exhaustion kept the clamor from waking the little girl, even as he leveled a questioning look on Laura.

"Don't look at me," she told him in an undertone, " _My_ friends aren't the ones inclined to show up whatever odd hour they please." Though he hated to concede it, the woman had a point. Without further ado, he strode to the entryway and swung open the front door, managing to quash his surprise before it could be seen by the man standing on the front step.

"Chief Castoro," Remington greeted, in a manner guaranteed to carry his voice to the other room, "Odd time of the night for a social call." In the living room, Laura handed off Sophie to Melina, then went to join Remington at the front door.

"Chief," she nodded, as Remington slipped his arm around her waist.

"Mrs. Steele," Castoro greeted. He was a man Laura once considered fairly good-looking. In his late forties, with dark thick hair and beard, skin that appeared perpetually tan and eyes so grey they were nearly silver, he stood an inch and a half taller than Remington, and sported the same, slim frame. Now, knowing the character of man who lurked beneath the surface of that skin, she found him exceedingly unattractive. Still, she plastered a smile on her face.

"What can we do for you, Chief?" she inquired.

"Would you mind if we stepped inside for a moment?" he asked, indicating the man standing two steps behind and one to the side of him. The couple exchanged glances, then Remington stepped back and indicated the direction of his screening room with his arm. Castoro stepped into the entry way, then, his eye catching something in the living room suddenly veered right.

"Sophie! Thank God!" he called out, his booming voice waking the child. Sitting up in Melina's lap, she scrubbed at her eyes, then stared at the man striding swiftly in her direction. Remington quickly stepped into Castoro's path.

"If you don't mind, the child's had an exceptionally difficult night, learning her mother's passed," Remington commented. "We'd just managed to get her to sleep when the bell rang. I'd prefer we not get her stirred up again, for her own sake." Castoro moved to step further into the room, to find Remington blocking him again. The man accompanying Castoro seemed to take exception at this action, and stepped towards Remington with the intention of stopping him from interfering. Sophie turned away from the scene, burying her face in Melina's chest, whimpering. She pulled the child's blanket up and around her, then began to rock her.

The doorbell peeled yet again. Laura muttered under her breath and yanked it open.

"Mrs. Steele," Zack greeted, and without invitation stepped into the house, Celek on his heels. "Celek and I need to discuss—" he feigned surprise at seeing the other two men in the house. "Uh, a complication we ran into this evening."

"You could have called," she pointed out, playing along.

"It was my idea, Ma'am," Celek said, stepping into the ruse. "We were only a couple of blocks away, so it seemed more expedient than searching out a phone."

"Well, you're here now." She gave a beleaguered sigh. "Have a seat in the living room until we finish our business with the Deputy Chief. And please, keep it down. Sophie's having a difficult time this evening." When the two men stepped into the living room, she inserted herself between Remington and Castoro. "Chief, if you don't mind, let's take this in the other room. As you can see," she rubbed her rounded stomach, "I need as much sleep as I can get, and if we wake up Olivia as well as Sophie, I won't be getting any tonight." Castoro had no choice but to agree, lest he wished to show his hand.

"Of course," he agreed readily, then followed behind her into the screening room. He waited until Remington and his man joined them. "You have no idea how worried I've about Sophie. When she couldn't be located after what happened to Clarissa, I feared she'd met a similar end."

"Forgive me, but why is Sophie a concern of yours, at all?" Remington posed the question.

"She's my daughter," Castoro answered, after a moment's hesitation. "The product of an ill-advised affair, I'm afraid," he answered, pretending embarrassment. Laura and Remington looked at one another.

"I'm afraid I'm more than a bit confused," Laura announced. "When Detective Jarvis brought Sophie to us on Saturday night, it was at the request of Clarissa, who stated my husband is Sophie's father."

"I can't speculate as to why Jarvis would have come to that conclusion. A misunderstanding? Or maybe nothing more than the confused ramblings of a woman who'd just been brutalized," he shrugged. "I can only assure you, Sophia is my child and I've come to take her home where she belongs."

"I'm afraid that won't be happening, mate," Remington refused, ignoring the anger infusing the other man's face. "Clarissa not only verified what Jarvis told us when he brought the tyke to us, but also quite legally assigned permanent guardianship over to my wife and I just yesterday. She'll be staying right here with us until all the… legalities… can be sorted out."

"You're making a mistake, Steele," Castoro warned. "There are considerable consequences, legally speaking, for refusing to turn a child over to their parent."

"Again, I can provide proof of guardianship and enough cause that a reasonable person would believe she is mine. Can you do the same? Your name on her birth certificate, for instance?" Remington challenged. When the man remained silent, he continued, "No? Then as Mrs. Steele pointed out, she's in need of her rest, and we've still work to wrap up and a child to get to bed. I'll see you out."

"You'll be hearing from my counsel first thing in the morning, Steele," Castoro warned.

"Looking forward to it," he answered as he swung open the door. Castoro took the opportunity to turn and address Laura directly.

"I have to say, Mrs. Steele, after all I've heard about you over the years, I wouldn't think you'd so easily accept your husband had fathered a bastard child with a hooker," he provoked. "In fact, I'd think you'd demand definitive proof she was his child before welcoming her into your home." Laura's temper flashed. Blanking face of all emotion, she assumed the icy calm demeanor for which she was so well known.

"And Mrs. Castoro? Is she so readily accepting of your years long affair with the woman?" she volleyed. He blanched slightly at that. "I assure you, Mr. Castoro, my husband more than paid for his brief association with Clarissa, and I like to believe I'm reasonable enough to understand a child should never pay for the actions of their parents. _Sophie_ is a sweet, innocent little girl, and I can promise you this: she won't be made to pay for the misdeeds of her parents. Now, _good night_."

After the two men departed, Remington closed the door then turned to face Laura. They shared a look between them, then silently agreed to postpone speaking further about the matter until they were alone. In the meantime, Celek and Zack awaited them, and there was a little girl to get to bed. Laying a hand on the small of her back, he escorted her into the living room.

"Celek, Burton," Remington nodded at the two men. "Impeccable timing."

"When we followed Castoro here, we didn't want to take the chance things might get dicey," Zack explained their abrupt arrival.

"We appreciate that," Laura thanked them. "Now, it's late. I suspect we're the only visit of any meaning Castoro intends to make this evening, so why don't the two of you call it a night and we'll see you at the staff meeting in the morning?" The two men stood and shook hands with the couple, then saw themselves out, Melina maintaining her silence until the door closed behind them. Laura sat down next to her sister-in-law and reached for Sophie. The little girl lunged for her, and Laura quickly gathered her close, automatically beginning to rock with her.

"She's _shaking_!" she exclaimed, infuriated that Castoro's arrival had put the little girl in such a state. Then something else registered with her, and her eyes widened. "And soaked!"

"As soon as she caught sight of that _other man_ it began and she wet herself," Melina informed them. "I've not been able to calm her since." Remington's eyes dropped to his sister's lap, noting she was quite thoroughly soaked.

"Lina, I'm sorry," he swiped a hand across his mouth. "I'd no idea. But thank you for drawing no further unwanted attention to her…"

"There's nothing to thank me for," she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. "A little accident means nothing. Xen, whoever that man was, Sophie's terrified of him." Laura was inclined to agreed, as Sophie continued to trembling, and, she noted, her breathing was shallow, bordering on labored.

"Sophie, sweetie, listen to me," she urged, smoothing her hand over the girl's hair and back. "They're gone. They won't be coming back, and I _promise you_ we won't let them take you from us. You're safe." At those words, Sophie sat up and wrapped her arms around Laura's neck, holding on for dear life. "Let's go get you cleaned up and in a fresh nightgown. "Remington?"

As much as she would have preferred taking Sophie upstairs herself, there was no possible way she could carry her up the stairs in her current, ungainly state. Shockingly, when he lifted the little girl away from Laura, she came willingly, wrapping both arms and legs around him, clinging. He raised a brow at his wife as if to ask _what in the bloody hell has caused all this._ In return, he received a look which said _we'll discuss it later._

"Melina," Laura pulled the other woman into hug when she got to her feet, "Thank you," she told her fervently. Then stepping away, added, "We'll bathe Sophie in our room, so you can clean up as well. If you want to join us afterwards…" She left the suggestion open ended, allowing the woman to discern on her own it would be talk over what had happened that evening.

Their unexpected guests had certainly conspired to lengthen the evening. As Sophia soaked in a warm bath with Remington keeping a close eye over her, Laura quickly changed out of her dampened clothes and into a robe, then finished the child's bath. While she rocked the Sophie to sleep in Olivia's room, Remington showered, then gathered their soiled clothes, along with Sophia and Melina's, dropping all into the washing machine. By the time he returned to their room, the baby monitor already sat on his bedside table, and he could hear the pit-pat of water hitting tiled floor in the shower.

He sat down wearily on the sofa in their bedroom, leaning elbows against knees and dropping his face into his hands, rubbing at it. A quiet evening at home, it had not been, and all under the roof were thoroughly exhausted. First, the altercation with Laura, the unplanned revelation of Clarissa's death to Sophie, then, of course, Castoro making his surprise appearance. Yet, despite all that had happened, it was Olivia's generous offer that kept repeating in his head.

" ** _My Da can be your Da!"_**

If only it were that simple. He didn't know if either he or Laura were equipped to take on three little ones under the age of four. Their lives already were nothing if not a series of gives and takes, a necessity to make all parts of it flow together: the Agency and their partnership; their marriage and the friendship that was the foundation of it all; parenthood; and, tucked in there somewhere, the commitment not to lose who they fundamentally were, as individuals, amid the demands of the rest. They'd never spoken of having more than two, and even then, it had taken a great deal of faith to believe they were prepared to take that next step now.

He'd imagined six weeks of the four of them at home – well, for the most part, as he'd be expected to pick up the slack at work in the wake of Laura's absence – establishing new routines, bonding. To take on a third child, a traumatized one at that? He shook his head and sighed long. Shouldn't he, of all people, gladly and willingly take on this child, orphaned by her mother, unwanted by her father except to guarantee her silence? _Yes, you should_ , his conscience screamed at him. But it wasn't a matter of _want_ so much as a matter of could they do this child the justice she deserved? As a matter of fact, would two new additions to their household allow them to do any of the three children justice? He didn't know, and the thought of failing terrified him to his core.

Yet to not take the risk, to not do right by this child, what did that say of him? Elena and Marcos had gladly taken him on, finding space for him in their small, two-bedroom home, willingly adding another mouth to feed to their already tight monthly budget. Henri had done similarly, after he'd fled the Androkus home, believing he'd become too great a burden upon them. Then there was Daniel, who'd taken a brash, often violent, smart-mouthed lad off the streets, and had refined him into a gentleman. Daniel, who'd made possible this life Remington now treasured.

To not take Sophia into their home, gladly enfold her into their life, made him feel he was betraying all the kindnesses ever bestowed upon him. And, frankly, he wasn't sure he could live with that.

A hell of a place for a man to be, he recognized.

He looked up as Laura exited the bathroom, a vision in his black pajama top that matched the pants he wore, her air left a damp mass of curls, her skin freshly scrubbed and glowing. She with that slight waddle, which accompanied the seventh month of pregnancy. He fancied that slightly off-kilter gait, not that he'd say as much to her, lest he wished to be throttled. Without a word, he stretched his lanky frame out on the couch, using the arm as a backrest and eased her down to recline between his legs, her back pressed to his front. She took one hand in hers, tangling their fingers together, while taking his other hand and placing it on the side of her stomach, where their child was currently practicing its tumbling skills. She nuzzled her head against his shoulder, then closed her eyes, inhaling his rich, woodsy scent.

"Is Baby Steele rendering her opinion on this evening's happenings?" he mused aloud.

"I guess you could say that, although I'd be more inclined to say he's reacting to all the excess adrenaline he was subjected to," she answered quietly. "Interested in trying your hand at calming him, so maybe I can get some sleep tonight?"

"Hmmmm. I can do that," he agreed. For the next several minutes, she lay in silence, as Remington moved a firm hand across her stomach, while speaking quietly to their child, his touch eventually lightening, becoming more soothing. Laura sighed, deeply, when the baby finally calmed, only launching an occasional kick.

"Thank you," she murmured against Remington's neck, then opening her eyes, turned his hand over and began tracing it with the tip of a finger. While there was a time this was a nearly nightly ritual when they talked, over the years it had gradually been reduced to only those times when she was troubled. He keyed in on it immediately.

"What's on your mind, love?" he questioned, rubbing his free hand up and down her arm.

"Sophie." She paused at length then with a bobble of her head added, "Me." She released a short puff of air, underscoring her frustration. "I don't know if I can do it, Remington."

"Do what?" he asked, urging her gently to open up about what was weighing on her slim shoulders. She shook her head several times.

"I know what I _should_ do, say." Her brows drew together in a frown. "She lost her mother today, and certainly we can't let that _man_ have her." She blew out another breath then gesticulated with her free hand. "I know I _should_ say, _we'll_ keep her, give her a home, be her family. But I don't know if I can do that, and I honestly don't like what that says about me or who I believed myself to be." He chuckled lightly behind her.

"We're not talking about a puppy here, Laura, but a _child_. It's only human to have questions, doubts. Do you think I don't have some of my own?" He felt her straighten slightly against his chest.

" _You do?_ " she asked, clearly stunned.

"Of course, I do. This life of ours is very meticulously balanced, by your own hand, I might add," he told her, sharing with her his own thoughts, concerns, aloud. "We spend most of our days at the Agency, yet somehow Olivia neither feels we are absent from her life, nor do we feel absent from hers. We manage to snatch bits of times to ourselves, to keep this romance of ours…" he nuzzled his cheek against the side of her head "…as alive and enticing as it ever was, be it stealing away a for a couple of dates a week, or a long weekend away. Yet, still, there is somehow time to stay true to who we were before, me with my poker nights, fencing, and polo, you with your triathlons, dance, and piano. I'm never quite sure how you've managed it all, though I am beginning to suspect there is some form of witchery involved." She laughed softly at that, as he'd hoped she would. "And now, very shortly we will be adding our second little one into the mix, trying to maintain that same balance which has worked so well for us all." She lifted fingers to brow and began to knead.

"So what does that say about us? Are we any different from all the Shannahan's, when they sent you on their way once they were aware they had a child of their own arriving?" she proposed.

"We didn't go looking for a child, as they did, Laura," he argued. "As a matter of fact, they never even came to my mind, at all." She latched onto the last.

"'They' didn't. But someone did," she surmised, accurately. "Who?"

"Who do you think?" he volleyed, loudly, defensively. At his tone, she shifted to leave, and he hastily wrapped an arm around her, beneath her breasts. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he told her, his voice filled with genuine contrition. "I've no right to take my mood out on you. Stay." She hesitated for a long heartbeat then finally settled back against him. "Marcos and Elena, Henri… Daniel. If any of them had been concerned about the changes taking me in would cause, I'd never have known a home at all as a child. How do I…?" he stopped speaking before he finished the thought.

"Dishonor them by no doing the same," she finished for him. She felt him nod behind her, even as he released his hold on her in order to worry a thumbnail with his teeth.

"So neither of us are sure if we can live with ourselves should we not keep her, nor are we sure we can do right by her and our own children, ourselves even, if we do. Is that a fair summary?" she summed up.

"I would say that it is."

"Then I'd suggest we set it aside for now. It's not a decision that has to be made until we know she's safe, and what we need, more than anything right now, is to stay focused."

"Mmmmm," he agreed. He settled two fingers under her chin and eased it back. "Focus, is always… a good…thing…" he murmured, then bent his head, his lips covering hers. Their heads turned in unison at the quiet tap on their bedroom door, and Remington waved Melina in. Laura waited until she had a seat before questioning her about earlier events.

"Melina, can you go over, in detail, what happened with Sophie earlier, when her father was here?"

"When her father came inside, she was fine. She didn't even seem to care that he was here. There was no connection at all… in my eyes, at least." She scowled. "But when she saw the other man? I've never seen a child so terrified. The way she shook, hid her face against me. Then, as you saw, she wet herself."

"Laura…" Remington said her name with concern. She nodded her head.

"I agree. Would you mind calling Monroe? I'd feel better if Tank, Dozer, Rocky and Bull kept watch over the girls, wherever they are, even with us." He helped ease her into a sitting position, then untangled himself the rest of the way.

"As would I. I'll take care of it now." Standing he crossed the bedroom, then sitting on the edge of the bed, picked up the handset to the phone. Melina watched the interplay, not speaking until Remington dialed the phone.

"Who are these people? And why do you wish them to watch the girls?" Laura curled up in the corner of the sofa, before answering.

" _Those people_ are four of Monroe's men – four very large, formidable men who we've used from time-to-time in the past when we needed to guarantee the safety of a client." She paused, considering how much to say, then decided it was best for Melina to know what they were up against, so she could make an informed decision about whether she wished to go elsewhere until the danger was past. "We suspect that second man was one of the men who attacked Sophie's mother." Melina's eyes widened. "If we're correct, he's now confirmed where Sophie is." She leaned forward, holding a hand out a hand towards her sister-in-law. "Melina, I know you didn't sign on for any of this. Maybe you'd feel… safer… more secure, if you stayed at Xenos's old—" Melina's chin tipped up stubbornly at that, and she cut Laura off.

"An Androkus stands with family… we do _not_ run."

Well, what could Laura say to that?

"Alright, so let me tell you about Monroe's men, so you know what to expect…"


	24. Chapter 23: Limitations

Chapter 23: Limitations

On Tuesday morning, Laura and Remington hadn't made it through the front doors to the Agency before the day turned downhill.

"Mr. Steele? Mrs. Steele?" an indistinguishable man asked, as he handed each of them an envelope. "You've been served." Seven words. That was all. And then he was gone.

"Castoro's handiwork, I'd wager," Remington commented, dryly. Laura looked at him with widened eyes.

"It's eight-forty-five!" she exclaimed, thoroughly dumbfounded. "The courts aren't even open for business for another fifteen minutes!"

"Goes to show it pays to be connected," Remington noted, as they walked through the Agency doors. "Mrs. Wolf, tell Mildred we need to see her in my office, immediately." He didn't even so much as look at the woman, as he tore open the envelope, extracted the papers and began to read while walking straight into his office.

"Yes, _sir,_ Mr. Steele," Bernice acknowledged, voice dripping with irritation. Laura paused at her friend and secretary's desk and gave her a look that clearly said 'not now', which resulted in a pair of raised brows directed towards the co-owner of the Agency, but an imperceptible nod of agreement. "Bad morning?" Laura swayed her head then looked towards the door her husband had just disappeared through.

"The tides seem to have turned that way at least," Laura noted. "We had a surprise visitor at home last evening in the form of one Deputy Commissioner Castoro, arrived to collect his daughter.

"You didn't—" Laura held up a hand stopping her.

"Of course, we didn't." A string of muffled, irritated cuss words with a touch of Cockney could be heard trickling into the reception area. "But based on the papers we were just served, it would be my guess the Commissioner's not taking 'no' for an answer."

"Mrs. Steele, we do have a matter to attend to if you recall," Remington's voice boomed. Said wife rolled her eyes.

"Coming!" she called back, before returning her attention to Bernice. "Bernice, if you could let the staff know we'll notify them when we're ready to begin the meeting, I'd appreciate it." She waved the envelope. "As you heard, this requires our immediate attention."

"Of course," Bernice answered, then punched Mildred's extension and relayed Remington's request.

"So, let's have it," Laura requested as she strolled into Remington's office and shut the door behind her.

"He claims that given the death of Sophie's mother, he is naturally entitled to full legal and physical custody of his daughter and that we are currently interfering in said custody. Goes on to say we've no valid legal standing, and requests the Court order us to turn Sophie over to his care at once." A knock sounded on the door, and Mildred joined the couple, shutting the door behind her.

"It's not as though we didn't expect something along these lines," Laura pointed out. He shoved a hand through his hair.

"Yes, but, he's managed to acquire an emergency hearing for Friday at ten a.m. Optimistic, though I may be, that we'll put this bugger behind bars where he belongs, I don't see that being accomplished by Friday."

"You're probably right," Laura confirmed, "But unless he has indisputable proof Sophie is his child, I don't see the Court simply handing her over to him, and given Clarissa said he's denied his daughter since finding out about the pregnancy—" Remington waved the papers he was holding in the air.

"He's submitted to the Court a sworn affidavit of paternity," he interrupted, then tossed the papers on his desk. Laura slanted her eyes towards him.

"Well," she drew out the word, "Nothing would prevent _you_ from doing the same." She blinked at the look of insulted outrage that flashed across his face, and just as quickly it disappeared, making her wonder if she'd imagined it.

"No," he flatly refused.

"Think about it. It would muddy the legal waters if there were two men claiming to be her father," Laura continued, growing excited by the idea.

"The Missus has a point, Boss," Mildred dared to join. "If paternity is in question…" Remington began to pace the office.

"I said, no," Remington reiterated more firmly, pulling a hand through his hair anxiously.

"The Court's not going to simply hand Sophia off to a _potential_ father," Laura stepped in, adding reasonably, " _We_ were given guardianship. With you claiming to be her father, we could tie this up for _weeks_ , giving us the time we need to make Castoro's claims to Sophie moot."

"And don't forget, Jarvis would have to testify the woman said you were Sophie's father," Mildred added. "With that statement and the guardianship, the court would _have_ to leave her with you until everything was resolved," Mildred postulated, enthusiastically, punching her hand for emphasis. With a final pull of his hand through his hair, he stopped at the window, leaned a shoulder against the casing and stared sightlessly out at the panoramic view of the city. With one glance, Laura knew a change of tactics as in order.

"Mr. Steele, need I remind you this is business?" she asked him, in that icy cool, brooks no argument voice of hers. "We've assumed any number of roles over the years to solve a case, this is just another role." Unseen by her, his jaw clenched and he barked a sardonic laugh.

"Business is it, then?" He gave a sharp nod of his head, never turning to face the two women. "Well, by all means, Miss Holt, have the papers drawn up and I'll sign them… since it's _just_ 'business.'" Laura flinched at his use of 'Miss Holt'. It had been so long so since he'd referred to her as such, she couldn't readily retrieve from her memory when that time was. She crossed the room, to where he stood.

"Remington—" she began, reaching to lay a hand on his arm. But he neatly sidestepped her, and punched the intercom button on his phone.

"Mrs. Wolf, send the staff in. We're ready to start the meeting." With those words, he strode across the room and enclosed himself in the bathroom, leaving her staring after him with dismay.

* * *

"Brandon, Kiara. Find out anything of interest?" Remington asked in a no-nonsense clip.

The tension in the room was thick and noticed by one and all. Mrs. Steele was normally the direct, no nonsense one of the two, while Mr. Steele made it a point to toss in a few lighthearted lines along the way to keep the meetings upbeat. Today, Mrs. Steele was virtually silent, stealing questioning glances at the head of the agency now and again, while he kept up a series of rapid fire questions.

"No much of anything as of yet, sir," Brandon answered as the senior in their partnership. "The Westside are currently big into lifting vehicles, carjacking, and the like. But if anyone's aware Castoro was behind the hit on them, they aren't talking to any of our contacts… at least those we've caught up with." Remington gave a sharp nod.

"Zack, Celek, any travels, meetings of interest by Castoro yesterday?" he inquired, moving on.

"Only with you, Mr. Steele," Zack answered. "He went directly from headquarters to your place." Those unaware of the surprise visit the Steele's had had the evening before glanced at one another. Laura held up her hand, before the questions started flying.

"Castoro showed up at our home last evening, planning to take his daughter with him," she explained. "That didn't happen. Until we wrap this up, Monroe has supplied two teams of men, working twelve hour increments each, who will be with the girls at all times, or watching over the house when Mr. Steele and I are at home. In the meantime, we were served this morning with a summons to appear in Court on Friday morning at ten, in order to answer to claims we are keeping Castoro's child from him. Mildred is currently working on identifying a family law attorney to assist us."

"Gloria Abernathy," BB offered up. "I used her when my junky ex suddenly decided he wanted custody of Nathan. If she feels a child's at risk, she'll rip out the throat of the other party, and doesn't care who they are or what connections they might have."

"Perfect. Can you provide us her contact information after the meeting?" Laura requested.

"Yes, ma'am," the associate agreed.

"Mildred, Marvin and BB, how goes the asset traces?" Remington questioned, moving on, making his disinterest on the topic of an attorney clearly known.

"Came up with bupkis on anything outside of the ordinary for himself and his current wife," Mildred supplied. "But wife number two is loaded, so he could add to their joint accounts and it wouldn't appear suspicious. I've called in a favor from Bumpers and he's gonna get me the tax filings on Castoro and both wives going back a decade. Should have them tomorrow or the next day at the latest. In the meantime, we'll start looking for assets in the name of his children and parents."

"Mildred, when those tax reports come in, I'd like to see the last two years of join returns filed by Castoro and his first wife, then his own returns for the two years following their divorce," Laura requested.

"Are you onto something, Chief?" Laura shrugged a shoulder.

"Maybe, but I won't know until I see those reports."

"You got it. The minute they get here."

"Celek, Zack, you'll be switching off with Brandon and Kiara at six this evening. Call them with your anticipated location at that time," Remington instructed. "Any questions?" All remained quiet. "Good. Let's get to work."

Standing himself, he took his jacket from the back of his chair and slipped it on, catching Laura's attention.

"I need to test and finalize the Miller and Holder security system, bur first I'll be stopping by the school to make certain the staff is aware the only persons authorized to pick up the girls, until further notice, are Tank and Dozer, or Melina, you and myself." He buttoned his jacket, then placed a peck on her cheek. "I'll see you at home tonight." She managed to wriggle off the desk on her own, while looking at him, askance.

"Tonight? You're not coming back? What if we can get in to see this attorney today?"

"Thought I'd spend a bit of time with Olivia… and Sophia, of course… this afternoon. Should you manage to wrangle an appointment today, call me on the car phone." With those words, he departed.

"Oh, honey, he's not happy with you," Mildred observed. Laura sighed, then shrugged her shoulders.

"I know. He just needs time to put things in perspective. It'll be fine," she assured Mildred, confidently. She turned her head when BB rapped on the office door with a knuckle.

"Abernathy's contact information, Mrs. Steele." BB held out a slip of paper to her.

"Thanks, BB. We really appreciate it." She pasted a smile on her face. "Alright, everyone back to work. The sooner Castoro's behind bars where he belongs, the sooner we can get back to business as usual."

* * *

But, things weren't fine in the Steele household, although it took Laura a couple of days to realize it.

They weren't able to get an appointment with Abernathy until Friday afternoon, concerning given they were due to appear in court a full six hours before their appointment time. But, as the paralegal had assured them would happen, Abernathy filed a formal request with the Court, to continue the hearing date until the following Friday, so she'd have time to confer with her new clients and prepare their rebuttal to the allegations set forth in Castoro's motion. In the meantime, based on the guardianship provided by the mother to the Steele's, the child's custody would remain status quo.

Remington appeared, on the surface at least, to be his normal self. Breakfast was made, the girls fed, before Laura made it downstairs of the morning, at which time she'd be presented with a cup of tea in her favorite mug, while a travel mug stood at the ready for her on the breakfast bar. They rode into work each morning together, reviewing the tasks ahead, and conducted the staff meetings together, just as they'd always done. In the evenings, Laura and Melina would watch over the girls in the backyard, as Remington made dinner. The two of them cleaned up after the meal together, maintaining their normal chatter, then would put the girls down to bed together.

On Tuesday evening, she thought nothing of it, when he walked out of the bathroom, hair gelled back, stud in his ear, and wearing the accoutrements of Johnny Todd, as he'd made casual mention that he'd be hitting some of the seedier haunts that evening to see what he could learn about Castoro and the Westside hit. But, when he'd departed again on Wednesday night after the girls went to bed, in order to provide Celek a night off from surveillance, the first inkling something was wrong appeared. That evening, as he'd done the night before, he'd come home, moving with catlike silence through the room, had showered as quietly as possible, then had climbed into bed next to her, stretching out on his back, slinging an arm over his eyes, and making no attempt to urge her near.

She'd fallen asleep, troubled and slept restlessly, when he'd not once reached for her in his sleep. In all the years they'd been sharing a bed, she could not recall a single night when he'd not held her in some form or fashion.

On Thursday morning she'd awakened with her spirits downcast and mind on the alert, determined to figure out if her Mr. Steele was purposefully distancing himself from her, or if her imagination was simply running away with her. Several times throughout the morning she, who considered herself an expert on the many moods of Remington Steele, wanted to bop herself in the forehead. How had she missed, she asked herself, that the good humor which usually twinkled in his blue eyes was missing? How had she not realized that while he speaking to her as though all was well, he never once looked at her as he did so? How had the absence of those unconscious touches of his that happened a dozen, two dozen times a day, gone unnoticed? When was the last time he had truly kissed her? Not brushed his lips against her cheek, or bussed her on the forehead, but truly kissed her? With a rub at her brows she realized it was Monday evening, when Melina had interrupted them.

She waited until after they'd put the kids to bed, then had bided her time when Remington, upon crossing the hall into their room, had immediately gone into the bathroom to take a shower. She changed for bed, then dawdled about, straightening up this, repositioning that. She waited until she heard the shower turn off before shutting their bedroom door and carefully positioned herself on the bed, back resting against a pillow propped against the backboard, book in hand.

"I think I'm going to go downstairs and watch a movie, unwind a bit," he leaned down and tapped his lips to her forehead, never attempting to make eye contact. "Don't wait up." She closed her book and spoke quietly.

"Don't shut me out, Remington. Talk to me," she urged. He stilled two paces before the bedroom door.

"I believe I already tried to do just that," he answered coolly without turning to look at her, "And my feelings on the matter were not only cast aside without the least bit of regard, but once again, the errant schoolboy was given his marching orders." He stepped towards the door and reached for the knob.

"Why are you so upset about this? It's a _ploy_ , a _ruse,_ something to buy us more time. You didn't hesitate to claim potential paternity to Castoro."

"That was nothing more than a bluff." He turned to face her, making no attempt to hide the look of insulted outrage he'd been so careful to quickly conceal only two days before. "If I'd even thought for a second that you conceive of me officially claiming paternity, I'd have bided my words more carefully."

"That doesn't make any sense!" she exclaimed. "Why is it okay in one instance but not another?!"

"I thought we'd addressed this _years_ ago, when you set me up as bait with Astrid Covington! That you understood what I am and _am not capable of_ when it comes to these gambits," he accused. She frowned as her memory conjured up snippets of the conversation at that time.

* * *

 _ **"Four years, Laura. Four damned years I remained faithful to you because**_ _ **I didn't want anyone else…**_ _ **Now, I've a wife at home that I adore to the point of distraction, that I've waited for four bloody years to claim me as her own and she's finally done it!"**_

* * *

"I don't understand what that has to do with this," she told him, setting aside her book and taking to her feet. "I haven't asked you to date, charm… seduce a woman!" she threw out her arms, emphasizing the point. "I only asked that you buy us some time." He leaned his back against the door, and propped a foot against it while rubbing both hands over his face.

"Bloody hell, Laura," he retorted in utter frustration, "You're one of the most intelligent people I've ever known, not to mention the one person in the world who knows all of me, who I've hidden _nothing_ from. _You_ of _all people_ should understand!"

"Well, clearly I don't!" she shot back, her temper fraying at the ends, "And distancing yourself from me, closing yourself away, isn't going to help me figure it out. Why are you so upset … so angry about this?" He crossed the room and drawing his hands through his hair, shoved them in his pockets as he turned in her direction, rocking back on his heels. He averted his face from her.

"There aren't too many things I can look back on in my life, and know I did it right from start to finish, that I can take true, unadulterated pride in." With a shake of his head, he removed his hands from his pockets and began to pace, as she sat on the edge of their bed to watch him, still as baffled as ever. "Oh, there were things I was proud of, certainly: a heist I'd pulled off with ease, when it had been said such a deed was all but impossible, a bauble swiped right out from beneath of nose of the current holders, the reputation I'd built as a master thief. There were even those things about which I was entirely too smug," his eyes flicked towards her then away, "Such as the ease with which I'd lure a woman into my bed for a few hours entertainment, no promises made and with the understanding that come morning I'd be gone."

"But _this_ , Laura," he gesticulated between them with a hand, " _This_ I've done right." He brought his hands together for emphasis. He laughed drily. "Oh, I've made my mistakes along the way, have failed to come to you in times that I should have, have failed to place in you the faith that you'd stand by me. There've been times we've hurt one another, pushed one another away…" his eyes met hers, "…or ended things between us. But no matter how difficult things were at times, no matter how much easier it would have been to walk away as I would have most of my life, _I stayed_. And when I finally did leave, I came home on faith alone that whatever it was between us would come to fruition." Her fingers caressed her throat, her eyes riveted on him.

"Yes, you did," she agreed, when he seemed to falter.

"This," he gesticulated with his hands between the two of them again, "You and I, this life we've created, the home we've made… _our children_. _All of it!_ Everything I never believed I had a right to, but I stayed… and waited… and _fought_ for it. _This_ is the greatest accomplishment of my life to date and I take great _pride_ in it all." She stood and crossed the room to him, laying a hand on his chest, even as he pulled a hand through his hair.

"Do you think I don't know that?" she asked, looking up at him with intent brown eyes. "You show me, you show _Olivia_ , every day—" He moved away before she finished, pacing the room again.

"No, I don't think you do, or you wouldn't be demanding of me what you are!" he cut in, passionately.

"What I am asking you to do?!" she threw up her arms, growing frustrated again. "To sign a piece of paper, to buy us _time_!"

"No!" he retorted quickly. "No, that's not _all_ you're asking me to do. You're asking me to tell the Court, to state publicly," he turned and pointed a finger at her, "And quite officially, I might add, that I've betrayed _your trust_ and have been _unfaithful_ to you… barely a month after we married, no less." She finally caught on and her brows scrunched together in dismay.

"Reming—"

"We exchanged vows, Laura, _very real vows_ ," he plowed on. "Vows I've not only honored, but bloody well revere, as it was through them, all the rest could happen." She flinched at those words, and accepted as her due, the swift kick in her shin delivered by a guilty conscience.

"Rem—"

"Then, as if that's not enough, after a lifetime of assuring I would _never_ leave a child behind as was done to me, I'm to admit that I've done just that." She sat down on the bed and waited him out, as it was clear until he was through getting it all off his chest, he wouldn't hear a thing she said. "There's only one woman, Laura, _one,"_ he pointed in her direction again, "That I've ever had a desire to bear my children. _You!_ Yet, now you'd have me announce to whoever might get hold of that piece of paper, that not only is that not the case, but my first child is not Olivia, at all! That little girl in there, our daughter—"

His impassioned rant came to a screeching halt and he lifted a hand, rubbing at his mouth, and his chest rose and fell rapidly. Standing again, she moved to him, and cupped his face in her hands, waited until strained blue eyes met her contrite brown ones.

"I'm sorry. You're right, I should have known," she told him quietly, then drew a hand down to cup his cheek. "Remington, we'll find another way." Relief swamped him, and he gathered her close. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

"This _isn't business_ , Laura. It's our lives, our family," he reminded her again.

"I understand," she assured him, pressing her lips to his neck. Releasing him, she began to pace, and, in a reversal of positions he sat down on the bed, and reclined back on his elbows, waiting her out until, at last, she spoke. "Remington, other than what you gave Sophie, what did you bring back with you from Clarissa's?" He lifted a shoulder and dropped it.

"A few trinkets of Clarissa's for Sophie when she grows up. A few items which will help tie Castoro to Clarissa, should he choose to deny their association later on." His brows drew together. "Although I'd think the claim to paternity would certainly do that." He'd saved the best for last, of course, and quirked gave her a self-satisfied grin. "A strong box, as well as a micro cassette tape she'd hidden beneath a kitchen drawer." He held his silence, knowing her curiosity would get the better of her. _Wait for it, old sport_. _One… two…_ On cue she tossed out her hands,

" _And?!_ " Purely to irritate her, he simply shrugged a shoulder again, his smile widening when her hands planted on her hips, temper tweaked. "Mr. Steele!"

"I've no idea," he admitted. "After your… displeasure… the other evening, I thought it best to leave matters rest until you were ready to have a look."

"Well, what are you waiting for then?" He rose from the bed and strode towards the door.

"Really, Mrs. Steele, a little patience—"

"Remington," she drew his name out in warning.

"Going, going," he assured her. "Be back momentarily."

As she watched him depart, she could only hope the strong box or tape would provide them with anything that might stall Castoro's claim to custody.


	25. Chapter 24: Discoveries

Chapter 24: Discoveries

Laura and Remington sat on the bed, their backs leaning against the headboard, the strongbox between them, going through its contents.

"Stock certificates," she announced, thumbing through the papers in her hand. "Are they worth anything?" He relieved her of the papers and glanced through them while she reached for the next folded grouping of papers.

"I'd invested a bit in this company, got out fairly early as the company didn't perform as expected," he mulled, "But, given the number of shares, when she bought in and the value today, we can likely get two, three thousand out of it. I'd reinvest in something safe, a fifteen-year bond, perhaps, that would provide Sophie with a nice little rainy day fund when she comes of age."

"' _We'_ can?" she questioned. "The guardianship gives us the right to act on Sophie's behalf, but I'd think those stocks would be part of Clarissa's estate." She turned the papers in her hand in his direction.

"Last Will and Testament? Anything of interest?" Laura gave her head a slow shake.

"It was executed five years ago, so needless to say, there's no provisions for her guardianship or care." She thumbed through a couple more pages. "Bernard is named as executor."

"Good, good. He'll do right by the girl. What else have we got?" he asked, fishing in the box and taking out the next paper. A smile lifted his lips. "Well, this should be of some assistance to us." She turned and looked at him questioningly. "Sophie's birth certificate. Sophia Alexa Jensen. Date of birth March nineteenth, nineteen-eighty-seven. Mother Clarissa Faith Jensen. Father…" he turned his head and raised a brow at her, "… left blank."

"Thank God for that," she commented, then smiled at whatever was held in her hand, as he reached into the box again.

"What have you got there?" he asked, curious as to what had seemed to capture her fancy. Her fingers traced something on the paper.

"The commemorative birth certificate." He looked over her shoulder at the announcement which featured ink imprints of the then newborn's hands and feet. They'd had Olivia's framed and hung over her crib, and it, along with a collection of Remington's sketches, now hung above the headboard of her bed.

"Clarissa had a fair amount of life insurance," he shared. "Should be enough to pay her final expenses and still add a bit to that nest egg for Sophie." She removed a stack of photos from bottom of the box, then handed him the only item remaining: a small envelope.

She browsed through the photos, with him looking over her shoulder. Clarissa, hair matted with sweat, without makeup, holding a newly born Sophie; Sophie's nursery picture… all-in-all, almost two dozen pictures, a third of those of Clarissa and Sophie together. The pictures were, without a doubt, a treasure trove of artifacts for a child who'd lost her mother at such a young age. Placing the pictures along with all the paperwork, except the small envelope Remington still held in his hand, back in the box, she leaned her head back and sighed, while caressing her stomach as Baby Steele made its presence known.

"What's in the envelope?" she asked, as he opened the flap and dropped the contents into his hand. He held up a key between two fingers. The key was imprinted with '304'.

"Safe deposit box I'd wager." Sliding it back into the envelope, he set it on his bedside table then closed the strong box and set it aside. "We'll have Mildred try to track it down tomorrow." He sidled closer to her, and eased her shirt up to bare her rounded stomach. With a sign and a smile, she closed her eyes, as his fingers brushed whisper soft patterns over her flesh, soothing both mother and child.

"Tired?" he questioned. She hummed in answer.

"I haven't slept well the past couple of nights," she offered.

"Perhaps we should delay listening to the—"

"No, no," she interrupted. "I'd like to know what's on that tape before we meet with Abernathy tomorrow." He knew there was no point in arguing, stubborn woman that she was. He landed a kiss on her belly, then pulled down her shirt, before sitting up and grabbing the microcassette player off his bedside table and loading the tape.

"Let's see what we've got here then, eh?" He repositioned himself to recline next to her, then hit the play button.

* * *

" _Gabe, we need to talk."_

" _The only thing that needs to happen involves you, me and that bed right there."_

" _Gabe, stop it… I said stop!"_ Struggling could be heard. _"You need to listen to me. I don't want you coming around here anymore. I'm-"_

" _How many times do I have to tell you, I don't care what a whore like you wants? I've bought and paid for you a dozen times over. You're mine until_ _I_ _tell_ _you_ _otherwise. Now, get your ass in that bed, Clarissa."_

" _No! I mean it, this is done._ _We're_ _done."_ Flesh contacting flesh could be heard, before what sounded like material ripping. _"Gabe, stop… stop… No… No!"_ A man howled, and more rustling could be heard, then a woman panting.

" _You'll pay for that, bitch,"_ the man's voice warned menacingly.

" _I swear to you, if you touch me again I'll—"_

" _Call the cops?_ " The man laughed. _"I_ _am_ _the cops. Who do you think will be believed? The_ _hooker_ _with a rap sheet as long as my arm or the Deputy Chief of the LAPD. I think we both know the answer to that question, don't we?"_

" _I don't believe every cop is crooked. I'll keep trying until someone listens! I'll go to the press! I do_ _know_ _people, well-respected people, that—"_ Her words were cut off and an ominous thud was heard, followed by the sounds of a struggle and a series of gasps, accompanied by deep throated grunts.

" _Mommy?"_ a small, frightened voice entered the fray. Laura's hand lifted to lay at her throat upon hearing Sophie's voice. A series of coughs ensued, then a sharply drawn in breath.

" _It's alright, baby,"_ a hoarse voice assured. _"Go back to bed."_

" _I'm scared,"_ a tear-tinged voice answered.

" _Sophia, go to your room and don't let me see you again tonight,"_ a callous voice boomed, _"Or, I'll—"_

" _Don't!"_ Clarissa cut him off, sharply, then softened her voice. _"Come on, baby, I'll take you back to bed."_

* * *

A child's crying could be heard, moving further and further away, then the room fell into virtual silence, save for some vague rustling indicating a presence still in the room. Picking up recorder, Remington fast forwarded several times before conversation resumed.

* * *

" _I want you out of my house!"_ Clarissa ordered, when she returned to the room.

" _Haven't we already been through this?"_

" _Sophie is nearly four-years-old now. It was hard enough on her when she began understanding you treat her as though she doesn't exist, but yelling at her, threatening her? She's a good kid, Gabe. A really_ _good_ _kid. I won't have her feeling unwanted or frightened in her own home."_

" _Any more talk about walking out, and the little bastard will find herself in the system. One phone call from me, and you'll never see the brat again,"_ he threatened.

" _She's your child, Gabe! You wouldn't put your own child—"_

" _She's not my fucking kid! She could be the kid of any man her whore mother spread her—"_

" _I'm a_ _good_ _mother," Clarissa cut him off, desperately. "There are no_ _grounds_ _for her to be taken from me! I'm not going to let your threats—"_

" _Oh, it's not a threat, Clarissa, it's a promise. I own this damned town. I'll have a half dozen people lined up like that,"_ the snapping of fingers could be heard, _"Ready to testify that you neglect the well-being of that kid, and conduct… 'business'… at home, around your very impressionable child."_

" _I know things,"_ her voice hardened, _"Things that, if I talk, could send you to prison for a long time, so don't you dare threaten to have Sophie taken—"_ Her words ended on a sharp intake of breath.

* * *

As did the tape. Turning it over, as Remington suspected, the other side was blank. He rubbed at his mouth with a hand, then turned to look at Laura, whose face reflected his own disbelief and shock. She was first to speak.

"After listening to this, I don't see how any court could award him custody of Sophie, daughter or not."

"I'd always feared Clarissa's choice of profession would one day see her turning to drugs, as I'd seen happen so often to lasses on the streets of Brixton," he ruminated. "I've seen the toll, the cost, of selling one's body in order to survive. But I never imagined _this." Nor my part in it_ , he added silently to himself. She picked up the tape recorder and set it on her bedside table, then lay down on her side. Reaching for his hand she waited until he spooned behind her, then slid a hand under her nightshirt to rest his hand against the flesh of her rounded belly.

"I know I've… struggled… with the part she played in your attempts to avoid deportation," Laura admitted, quietly, "But I wish she'd come to you… us. Neither she nor Sophie should have been subjected to this man's… tyranny. I can't even imagine the… sense of betrayal… she must have lived with every day. To love someone, believe they love you, only to have them reject your child, to hold you… hostage. We could have helped her." She shook her head.

"I can't help but think had it not been for my…" he swallowed hard, "…hiring her… That she'd never have met the man, might well still be alive." It had taken a great deal of courage to make such an admission, understanding he was risking reviving the harm he'd subjected Laura to at the time. She rolled to her back and looked up at him, a hand stroking his shoulder.

"You can't think like that," she advised, quietly. "Yes, it's true, she may have never met the man absent her arrest that day, but then she wouldn't have had Sophie either." Her fingers strayed into his hair. "And I think if Clarissa were here right now, she'd tell you the nearly four years she had with Sophie was worth all the rest. I know there's not a single event from my past I wouldn't willingly repeat if it meant having Olivia. Whatever I've gone through to get here, she… this child…" she lay her hand over his where it still rested against her stomach "… you… make it all worth it." As had been the case from nearly the beginning, she'd found a way to soothe his heart. Pressing up on an arm, he leaned down and claimed her lips with his.

"Laura," he murmured against her lips, before settling in more fully, tasting and teasing her lips with his. She drew a hand through his hair, then over a shoulder and down his back, before skimming it around his waist, and, with a flat palm, pressed against his stomach, urged him to his back. He laughed softly, and pushed upwards to lean his back against the headboard, stretching his long legs out in front of him, then offered her a hand getting up and steadying her as she straddled his lap. Her lips lifted in a knowing smile, and she drew her fingers around his ears, down his neck then over his shoulders before burying her finger tips in the thick hair of his chest.

"Have something in mind, sweetheart?" she asked, cupping the side of his neck with one hand and peppering a trail of kisses along the opposite jaw. Closing his eyes at the feel of her lips against his skin, his fingers efficiently released the buttons of her shirt, before clasping her face in his hands and drawing her lips to his. He kissed her with that tender fervor that still never failed to make goosebumps scatter across her skin and her toes curl. With two final brushes of his lips over hers, he ended the kiss. White hot blue eyes met dazed brown eyes.

"That depends on if you're still tired." She laughed quietly. The truth of the matter was her body had flared to life as soon as he'd kissed her the first time. It had been three nights since they'd made love, still a rarity for them, and that was normally during times of strife. Combine that with her raging hormones and the intoxicating man beneath her?

"Oh," she tilted her head and drew her fingers tips from his shoulders to waist, "I think I could be roused." He lifted his brows, as he drew her shirt down her arms then tossed it away.

"A…roused?" he questioned, drawing his thumbs over the tips of already hardened nipples. Instinctively, in reaction to his touch, she ground her hips against his.

"That too…" she agreed breathily. He palmed her face and drew her back to him.

"This is going to take a while, love," he murmured before his lips brushed hers, and he traced her lips with a string of small kisses. She'd known the moment he'd reclined against the headboard that this would be the case. That particular position always indicated his need to rediscover her body and would be filled with long, languid, whisper soft touches of his fingers to her skin as he sought make her nerve endings sing.

"I thought it might," she hummed, tipping back her head to give him access to her neck. It was an invitation he had no desire to refuse.


	26. Chapter 25: No Allegiance

Chapter 25: No Allegiance

Over the years, Laura and Remington had found a case might remain stagnant, unmoving to the point of utter frustration, only to break wide open in the course of a few minutes. As was the case into their investigation of Castoro on Friday, four days after the investigation had begun.

The first frisson in the case came within minutes of their arrival at the Agency and arrived in the form of a pink message slip handed to the pair by Bernice as they walked through the Agency doors.

"Dr. Bennett?" Laura asked as she perused the piece of paper. She lifted her eyes to give Bernice an openly curious look. "Did he say what it was about?"

"Only that it was urgent you call him the minute you got in," the brunette answered. Laura and Remington exchanged glances.

"Shall we then, Mrs. Steele?" he suggested, indicating his office door with an extended arm. "Mrs. Wolf, if you'd be so kind as to let the staff know the meeting will start in fifteen?" At Bernice's brisk nod in confirmation, Laura preceded Remington into his office, then assumed Remington's chair with a muffled groan as he shut the door behind them, then perched a hip on the desk, while giving her a concerned look in response to her obvious discomfort. She held up a hand before he began pressing for answers.

"Just a little uncomfortable this morning," she offered. Truth be told, she had a nasty kink in her lower back, thanks to their antics the night before. But, in her opinion, a couple of knotted muscles was a small price to pay for all the dividends that activity had yielded. "Let's call Bennett." With a nod, he punched line one then dialed in the number that had been left for them. They waited patiently as they were transferred first to the nurse's desk in surgical ICU, then while Bennett was paged.

"Bennett," a voice finally came over the line.

"Dr. Bennett, it's Laura and Remington Steele," she answered, taking the lead for now. "You asked that we call as soon as we got in?"

"Good morning. I did. If you'll, uh, hold a couple more minutes, I need to, uh, go to my office where I can have the file in front of me," he answered.

"Of course," she agreed, then found musak abruptly playing across the line again. Her eyes met Remington's. "Is it just me or-?"

"The man's nervous," he confirmed before she finished. She thrummed her fingers against the desk awaiting his return, then leaned forward in the chair, anxiously, when he picked up the line again.

"Mr. Steele, Mrs. Steele, my apologies, but I don't wish to discuss this in front of the staff at large, just in case…" Remington's brows lifted in curiosity at this, while hers drew together.

"In case of what?" she asks, cutting to the chase.

"I received the autopsy results on Ms. Jensen this morning. I'd given the coroner detailed instructions on what I wanted him to be on the lookout for. I'd hoped I would be wrong, but as it turns out…" A heavy breath could be heard being expelled on the other side of the line.

"What did the coroner find, Dr. Bennett?" she prodded.

"Ms. Jensen's cause of death has been decreed cardiac arrest with the intermediate cause of air embolism," he provided. The couple exchanged glances.

"And precisely what does that mean, in layman's terms, if you don't mind," Remington interjected.

"Quite simply, a massive air pocket prevented blood flow through the heart, ultimately causing Ms. Jensen's death."

"A complication from her injuries then," Laura assumed. There was a long pause before he answered.

"Not based on the findings of the autopsy," Bennett corrected. "The coroner found a puncture in Ms. Jensen's skin directly above the subclavian vein, presumably made by a needle. Hospital records indicate no injections made anywhere in the vicinity of the subclavian…" he sighed again "… and the contusing around the puncture indicated it had occurred shortly before the time of death."

"So, she was injected with something," Remington concluded.

"Not something," Bennett redressed. "Air and only air. A significant amount, at that. A few small air bubbles in an IV line, for instance, is not a cause for alarm. When a large pocket of air enters the blood system and travels to the heart, the heart – a prime and pump mechanism – is unable to pump the air out it and eventually fails."

"You're saying someone intentionally injected air into her veins to kill her," Laura concluded. "How? How does this happen in a hospital? Was it a staff member?"

"I had the same questions," Bennett replied. "I had security check the tapes for all cameras on the surgical ward. It was a short window of time as she'd only been moved out of ICU ninety minutes before the code blue was called. There's a… nurse… shown arriving on the floor twenty minutes prior to Ms. Jensen going into arrest, then leaving the floor ten minutes after she arrived. A still shot from the video has been shared with the staff, and no one recognizes her."

"We need to see those tapes, doctor," Remington stepped in.

"I thought you might feel that way. If you can meet me at eleven-thirty, I'll be free for lunch and I'll take you down to security."

"We'll be there," Remington assured the man, then punched the line, disconnecting the call.

"Murdered…" Laura breathed, leaning back in his chair and caressing her stomach with her hands. "Two men on the initial attempt and now possibly a woman. Exactly how many people are willing to get blood on their hands for Castoro?" she ruminated.

"I don't know, I don't know," he answered with a shake of his head. "But even three makes me wonder if it would be wise for you and the girls to go stay with my Father and Catherine, rather than them coming here or perhaps an extended vacation on Oia? Marcos and Elena would be thrill—" His words came to a halt when she held up a hand in his direction.

"Stop right there," she interrupted. "If you think the girls and I are going _anywhere_ , you are out of your mind. Sitting aside the fact that no one will chase me from my home, _our daughter's home_ , there are a few practicalities you're forgetting."

"Oh, and what might those be?" he inquired. The thin strains of sarcasm that tinged the words alerted her that he was prepared to battle this one out.

"First," she flipped up a single finger, "Unless you have it secreted away somewhere, Sophie doesn't have a passport. Second," another finger joined the first, "While Clarissa awarded us guardianship of Sophie, the Court wouldn't look kindly on us leaving the country with her and we could face criminal penalties for doing so." A final finger came flicked upwards. "Third, and finally, neither Dr. Adams nor Dr. Miller are going to clear me to fly halfway across the world at this late stage of my pregnancy." He appeared momentarily flummoxed by her rebuttal, but then the determined look returning.

"Your mother's then," he suggested. She awkwardly pushed herself out of the chair, then waved an arm towards him.

"Now I know you've lost your mind," she declared. "Not only do the second two still apply, but I'd take the girls to the Hotel Del Amor before my mother's!"

"Lau-ra—" She waved her hand at him.

"This discussion is over, Remington," she insisted firmly. "I'm perfectly safe here at the Agency, the girls have Tank and Dozer watching over them at school then home until we get there and in the evenings Rocky and Bull are right outside. That's all the changes I'm willing to make." Any further discourse was ended by a knock on the door, the first of the staff arriving for the morning meeting. Laura returned to Remington's chair, while he leaned against the corner of the desk where she normally perched.

"Burton, Celek, where are we?" Remington asked once all were assembled.

"We ID'ed the cop that came to your house with Castoro on Monday night," Zack announced. "Detective Timothy Farrell. Been with the LAPD for fifteen years, currently working narcotics. Married with two kids, twelve and fourteen. He and the wife declared bankruptcy eight years back, but in the past seven have seemed to have no money issues: both drive newer model cars, financed, and they have a nice house in Mar Vista with a hefty mortgage that they make each month. Word on the streets is that Farrell's problems with coke put them in the financial bind leading to the bankruptcy."

"We still don't know who the second man was with him at Clarissa's," Laura mulled, tapping a finger against her bottom lip. Her eyes lit up when she found an avenue to pursue. "Find out whose partnered with Farrell, past and present. Identify his direct supervisors as well. We'll need pictures of all the males that fall under these criteria and, as much as I hate to do it, Mr. Steele and I will see if Sophie recognizes any of them." Both men nodded their understanding.

"Anything else?" Remington asked.

"Nothing yet," Zack answered. "Still showing up at headquarters, sticking around there all day, then going straight home. If he makes a move, we're ready."

"Graham? Warmack?" Remington addressed the second pair of partners.

"Still coming up dry on linking Castoro to the Westside hit. We did get a lead yesterday on the location of the Westside's chop shop," Brandon announced. "We staked it out for a few hours. We've observed a handful of high dollar vehicles moving through there in just the last twenty-four hours alone."

"Let's sit on it for a couple days and see if anything interesting crops up. Take the camera with you," Laura directed. "When we break the news that Deputy Chief of the LAPD is dirty, it will earn us some points if we can give the department a big bust or two to announce."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Mildred, Slottmann, Bishop?" Remington addressed the remaining three.

"Bumpers had those tax returns delivered late yesterday afternoon," Mildred responded for the group. "The ones Mrs. Steele asked for are already on her desk. Slottman and Bishop are going through the rest with a fine tooth comb. Checks for accounts in the names of Castoro's kids came up dry. Working on the parents now." Removing the small envelope containing the key from his pocket, Remington tossed it to her.

"This was in a strongbox I…" he pursed his lips and made a gesture with his hand "…appropriated from Clarissa's apartment. A key to a safe deposit box I'd wager. We need to know which bank."

"No problem," she answered confidently.

"Mildred, we're also going to need Bernard's phone number," Laura added. "He's named as the executor in Clarissa's will. There were some stock certificates in that strong box, that we'd like to see turned into long-term bonds for Sophie, and, I have a feeling, the sooner we can freeze Clarissa's assets the better." Her eyes caught Remington's and with a slight nod of his head, he agreed they should share recent events with the staff. "We may also need him to claim her body, arrange a service for her, as I doubt her parents will wish to do so."

"We were informed of the autopsy results this morning," Remington continued when Laura paused. "Her death was not the result of her injuries, but rather a needle full of air injected into her vein. It's possible the perpetrator was caught on security video. Mrs. Steele and I will be meeting with hospital security late this morning."

"If that's all, let's get to work," Laura announced, concluding the morning meeting. Then a thought popped into her mind. "Brandon," she called after the young detective. He allowed everyone to pass and hung back.

"Ma'am?"

"Give the address of that chop shop to Bernice," she instructed. "I'd like to know who owns the building."

"Yes, ma'am." With those words he departed, leaving Remington and Laura alone, briefly. She pushed herself up out of the chair and stretched her back, trying to ease the kinks. His eyes watched her keenly, then fell on her belly, as was common these days. He still marveled at the fact she was pregnant once more with his child. Laura! The woman he once thought he might never have, let alone to have found the… bliss… that this life with her was. The thought that he might lose even a piece of it by Castoro's hand was enough to send his heart plunging to his toes again.

"Laura…" His hesitance after saying her name tipped her off to what he was wishing to speak about. She flashed a hand, palm forward at him.

"We're done discussing this," she said airily, dismissively.

"Be reasonable, Laura," he implored, choosing to ignore her edict. "The man's already killed to keep his secrets buried, and you don't think he might do so again should he discover our efforts to bring them to light? Haven't we already agreed he'd be willing to allow _his own_ child to be harmed? And you think he'd hesitate to—"

"I never said that," she cut in. "I understand he's dangerous," she told him, throwing her arms out in emphasis. "It's why we're taking the precautions we are. But, I'm not going to let him turn our lives, Olivia's life, upside down." A tap at the open door stopped the conversation again. Their heads turned in unison and Mildred walked in.

"Interrupting?" the older woman wondered.

"Not at all," Laura insisted.

"Bernard's number," Mildred handed Laura a piece of paper. "Try him at the office first. He splits his time between there and home these days."

"Thank you, Mildred." Friend and employee looked from one to the other of them, her brows meeting in a frown, but she left the office without another word.

"Laura—" He meant to pick up where they left off, intent on convincing her of the wisdom of, for once, proceeding with caution, even if she saw it as excessive.

"Bernard," she returned, immovable as she normally was when she'd made up her mind. "And after," she reminded him, as she walked around the desk and punched line one, "You have you have an appointment to do the layout on the first of Finegold's stores." His jaw tightened but he gave not a word of rebuttal, as he closed the office door. But, if she believed this conversation was over, she had another thing coming.

* * *

The conversation with Bernard had gone better than Laura and Remington could have possibly hoped. Even now, Bernard was in his car driving towards LA with the intention of picking up Clarissa's will from Melina at the house and officially filing it with the court that afternoon. He'd see about having the apartment locked up for the purpose of inventory, would claim her body from the morgue at Cedars-Sinai and begin planning her final arrangements.

 _Remington_ , Laura sighed to herself, as she directed the Jeep into the final turn before reaching the hospital. From the start, he'd always been protective of her, determined no harm would come to her on his watch. Now, Castoro's actions with Clarissa had forced that instinct into overdrive. While he'd not insisted on finishing the conversation she'd adamantly stated _was_ over, she knew to the tips of her toes, he wasn't about to let this go. There was a fight brewing on the horizon, a big one, and she was dreading it already, because there was not a single compromise to be made.

With a wave to said husband, who stood in the parking lot awaiting her arrival, she heaved a final sigh as she pulled the Jeep into a parking place. The smile she gave him when he stepped up to her open doorway was real. No matter the tension between them, the disagreements, the worries, the disappointments, even the fears, when she saw him after some time apart, a small trill of happiness coursed through her. She gladly accepted his offer of a help down, unable to conceal the wince as she straightened.

"Hasn't worked itself out?" Her only answer was a look and a stretch of her back. "Shall we, then?" He indicated the hospital entrance with a nod of his head.

Bennett was awaiting the couple in the lobby of the hospital and quickly escorted them downstairs to security. Within minutes of their arrival, they stood behind a seated guard as he showed them the footage from camera's stationed outside of the elevator.

"My God," Remington drew out the words in disbelief. Laura's head snapped towards him, her brows lifted.

"You recognize her?" With a swipe at his mouth by his hand, he nodded his head slowly.

"I suspect with a couple of hints you will as well," he answered "Delanian? The steamer trunk?" Her brows knitted together, then she suddenly straightened and her eyes widened before returning to the screen.

"But she's—" she began.

"Apparently not," he overrode her before she could announce the relationship between the woman and Clarissa.

"You know who this is, then?" Bennett commented. "We'll need the identification to turn over to the police along with our suspicions about her part in Ms. Jensen's death."

"Actually," Laura stepped in, "We only know her first name and have no idea where she lives or works. But I assure you, we'll put our best people on it, and will pass on whatever information we find."

"When word gets out that a patient was murdered on our watch…" Bennett fretted, leaving the thought unfinished.

"It won't necessarily come to that," Laura tried to reassure the man. "The woman may agree to a plea, in which case the press may never get wind of it. We'll do our best to keep it quiet, but it would be wise if as few people in the hospital knew as possible."

"Understood," he agreed. Remington stepped forward and lay his hand on the small of Laura's back, indicating it was time to depart.

"We'll let you know as soon as we find anything concrete." She held out her hand to Bennett. "And, thank you, for not just assuming Clarissa died due to other… complications."

Remington and Laura waited until they reached her Jeep before discussing what the security tapes had revealed.

"Jill," he said aloud, then rubbed a hand over his mouth.

"I don't understand. I thought they were friends?" she questioned.

"So did I, so did I. And I'm willing to wager Clarissa believed the same." She could only shake her head in dismay. "Who shall we put on this?"

"I don't know that we'll have to," she replied. "If memory serves, Bernard was Jill's accountant as well. If he still is…"

"He'd have her full name and address of record." A proud smile lifted his lips. "Very good, Mrs. Steele."

"I have Bernard's number in my purse. We'll call from the Jeep." He offered her a hand up and then waited as she dialed. "Bernard? It's Laura Steele... Mr. Steele and I were wondering if you were still doing Jill's taxes… Yes, Jill Lewis…" She raised her brows at Remington. "Would you be able to have someone get her address from your files? You know it?" She didn't disguise the surprise in her voice. "One second, let me grab my pen." She scrambled through her purse for pen and paper. "1074 Wilshire Blvd, Unit 702. Got it. Thanks, Bernard." She disconnected the line. Remington whistled low and long.

"The Park Wilshire," he noted. "Jill seems to be doing well for herself."

"A little too well, if you ask me. Call me pessimistic, but I can't imagine she brings in the kind of money required to support the costs of a place like that on…" she pursed her lips "…love brokering alone." Turning the key in the Jeep's ignition, she turned over the engine. "Come on. Get in." He reached past her and turned off the ignition. "What did you do that for?" she demanded.

"We agreed that you'd run this investigation, but would have no active involvement," he reminded her. She scowled at him, then started the Jeep again.

"You're being ridiculous," she accused. "We're going to do nothing more than talk to her, feel her out…" His hand reached for the ignition again, and turning off the engine removed the key.

"She's most likely committed murder, of her friend, at that. Do you honestly believe she'd not hurt you, the babe, should she think it might save her own skin?" he reasoned. She leaned her head forward and rested her forehead against the steering wheel.

"I hate this," she bemoaned, drawing an empathetic hum from him as he reached out and fingered a tendril of her hair.

"I hope you mean the temporary limitations, not the pregnancy itself." She blew out a short, frustrated breath, then turned her head to look at him.

"You know I do. I just…" she let the thought trail off.

"Miss being in the thick of things? Hmmmm?"

"I do. But it's not only that," she leaned back against the seat and rubbed her fingertips against her forehead, then dropping her hands shook her head. "I don't—"

"Trust anyone to watch my back as you would?" he ventured. She gave him a pained look.

"Yes," she breathed, shifting in her seat to face him.

"Nor do I. But, for now, at least, I need you to do something I can't possibly do as well as you: Keep Baby Steele safe," he reasoned. Her eyes held his at length, then with some reluctance, she nodded her agreement.

"You won't go alone…"

"I give you my word, I'll call Graham and Warmack from the Porsche." Keeping his eyes with hers, he lifted her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles. "I'll see you at four, at Abernathy's?" She faced front in her seat again, and started the Jeep.

"Alright, four o'clock," she confirmed. "You'll call me with anything of interest?"

"I wouldn't dare do elsewise." He thumped the Jeep roll bar twice with a palm, then stepped back as she backed out of her parking spot and watched as she drove away.

* * *

Remington stepped off the elevator on the seventh floor of the Park Wilshire, with Graham and Warmack on his heels. With a quick glance at the numbers on the two closest doors, Remington turned right towards apartment seven-oh-two. As the group approached the apartment, two men exited, strolling towards the elevator the investigators had just vacated. The hairs on the back of Remington's neck stood up, when his sharp eyes observed the splintered wood of the apartment door jamb. He turned and looked over his shoulder, his eyes connecting with a pair of brown eyes belonging to one of the other men, as his hand reached out and shoved open the partially ajar door in front of him.

"Graham, Warmack, after them," he ordered then rushed into the apartment towards the prone figure on the living room floor. The investigator and apprentice acted without second thought, turning and running down the corridor after the two figures, as Remington knelt by the woman's side.

"Jill…" he called her name quietly, rolling her to her back. He winced when he saw blood covering the front of the woman's bodice, a noticeable hole above her left breast. "I'm calling for help," he told her, when her fear-filled eyes met his and she began to cough, her body convulsing from the effort. Standing, he quickly located the phone on the living room table and made the call for assistance. A quick trip to the kitchen provide him some towels to try and staunch the bleeding. Returning to her, he knelt at her side, and pressed down on the wound. It was clear the blonde was in dire straits and he might not ever have another opportunity to find out the answers they needed. "Jill, why would you kill Clarissa? She was your friend, for God's sake." Sorrowful eyes met his

"Gabe was in trouble," she answered weakly.

"You and Castoro were in involved?" he clarified, thoroughly stunned by the revelation.

"Clarissa," she explained, laboriously, "Called. Last year. Party for three. Kept seeing him. Leaving wife… for me."

"Then, why? Why, this?" he asked, with a nod at her wound.

"Clarissa's a… big girl, responsible for her own actions," she gasped, before a cough racked her body. She spoke again when the spasms calmed. "Sophia's just a baby. I said I'd confess. Tell everything. Go to FBI if I had to." He shook his head slowly.

"Who were they? Who did this to you, Jill?" he pressed.

"Charlie. Enrique. Cops. Gabe's men." She coughed again, a trickle of blood leaking from her mouth this time. With great effort, her eyes widening, she grasped his arm. "In my closet. Pocket of mink." Her eyes pleaded with him. "Don't let them hurt the baby." With those words, her eyes rolled and she ceased moving.

"Jill!" he called her name, patting her cheek. "Jill!" He pressed his fingers against her carotid artery, and found it devoid of pulse. Shaking his head, he rubbed both hands over his face, before dropping one, while one lingered over his mouth. "Right. Closet."

There was a single fur stored in her closet, and he quickly found an envelope tucked into an interior pocket. Folding it up, he shoved it into his jacket, then, after giving it due consideration, returned to the phone in the living room and wiped it down with his handkerchief, then did the same with the door where he'd pushed it open. A scant thirty seconds later, he slipped through the door to the stairwell, grimacing at the thought of the seven flights of stairs which lay ahead. Still, better that than the possibility of being cornered, alone, by a couple of cops on Castoro's payroll.

Two EMT's hauling gear and stretcher were running through the lobby towards the elevator, followed close at heels by two uniforms when Remington emerged from the stairwell. Quickly, he turned away, until the commotion died down, then strolled casually through the lobby exit into the courtyard in time to meet up with two sweaty, breathless associates.

"We lost them," Graham panted.

"But I think we've seen them before," Warmack chimed in, "At the chop shop."

"Our suspect provided two first names: Charlie and Enrique," Remington confided. "Get back to the chop shop, and let's see if our friends make an appearance there again today. In the meantime, once you get to the car, call Mrs. Wolf and tell her to pull picture and backgrounds on all Enrique's and Charlie's in the LAPD. Let's see if we can unearth a couple more of Castoro's men."

"Yes, sir," Graham acknowledged.

"Let Mrs. Steele and I know what you find. We'll expect a full report at the staff meeting on Monday morning. You and Warmack will continue to sit on the shop this weekend unless something of interest turns up."

"Yes, sir," this time from Warmack.

"The woman, Mr. Steele?" Graham questioned. Remington shook his head before speaking.

"She didn't make it. We've now two deaths to prove Castoro a part of. Let's get to work."


	27. Chapter 26: Preparations

Chapter 26: Preparations

Unable to be in the 'thick of things' she might be, but Laura decided that didn't necessarily mean she had to sit completely on the sidelines. A thought had come to her that morning as she showered. Less than ethical, it might be, but this was one of those times when she was willing to set ethics aside in pursuit of the greater good. As such, she'd picked up her phone and had made a lunch date, then had dropped her mini cassette recorder along with a small pair of headphones and Clarissa's hidden tape in her purse as insurance.

The diner was small, out of the way, but, if the standards of her teen years had been maintained, offered good food with little chance of being recognized by anyone of import. Having arrived twenty minutes early, she sipped at a glass of ice water while watching the door to the restaurant. A smile lit her face when her party arrived and she boosted herself from her seat to greet him.

"Milton," she said warmly, gladly accepting his hug and bussing him on the cheek when he released her.

"I see congratulations are in order, Binky," he grinned, offering her a hand as she sat again, then taking a seat across from her.

"They are," she smiled back at him. "How's marriage treating you?" Remington and she had attended Milton's wedding the prior April.

"Enjoying every minute of it." Conversation paused as they each ordered a cup of coffee. No doubt Baby Steele would provide a potent reminder of its disapproval later, but she needed the energy as there was still a lot of day in front of her.

"What about you? Are you and Lucy planning on starting a family any time soon?" she wondered.

"Our careers are our children," he answered simply. "Before we married, we agreed we couldn't possibly do justice to both our careers and a family. I'm not sure how you and Steele do it." She laughed merrily at the comment.

"Oh, it took us a little time to figure it out with just Olivia," she admitted, "And now we'll have to figure out how to do it all over again with two." She planted an elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. "But it's been worth it, at least for us. Still, parenting is not one size fits all. There was a time when I wondered if I could have both my career and a family."

"Going to keep working after this one?" Milton asked, curious. She nodded.

"I am. My career is as much a part of who I am, as yours is of you. I've worked too hard to get where I am, love my job too much to give it up without losing a large part of myself."

The discussion was tabled again while they placed their orders. As they ate, the recalled some of their days spent at Stanford University, amid much laughter and occasional poignancy. Only when she pushed away the platter with the nearly finished bacon cheeseburger and crisp fries, did Milton approach the reason she'd asked to meet.

"So, Binky, don't keep me in suspense any longer. You said you needed my help?" She leaned back in her seat and stroked the base of her throat with her fingertips.

"I do." She'd been trying throughout the meal to decide how to approach the subject, for she'd be asking Milton to violate his own code of ethics in the process. Drawing in a deep breath, she decided there was no better approach than the direct one. She explained how Sophie had come to be with her and Remington, Clarissa's subsequent death and Castoro's attempts to gain control of the child through the courts.

"I'm not sure how I can be of help," Milton told her. "This all sounds like your avenue of work, not mine."

"I hope you know how difficult it is for me to ask this, that I'm well aware I'm asking you to compromise yourself," she apologized before even making the request.

"What is you're asking me to do?" he inquired, still uncertain of what it was she needed from him.

"This afternoon Remington and I are meeting with an attorney. My hopes are we'll not only appeal to the Court to maintain guardianship, but that we'll challenge paternity, forcing a DNA test." She blew out a short breath, and lifted her eyes to meet his. He swallowed hard as he realized what she was asking.

"And since my company currently performs all DNA testing for the Courts in southern California, you want me to do… what? Bury the test?" he speculated.

"Buy us time," she confirmed, then found the steel spine for which she was so well known. "And if you can't do that, I need you to make certain the results negate any claim to paternity."

"Binky, you know I'd do almost anything for you, but don't you think you're getting a little carried away?" he challenged. "If this man is the child's father, then you can't honestly believe—"

"Her father is responsible for the death of her mother," she jumped in, "Not to mention a massacre on the streets of LA last summer and who knows what else. The only threat to exposing this man's men, _him_ , as a murderer, is a traumatized, three-year-old little girl!"

"But if he's her father—" he argued again, abruptly stopping when she lay the recorder and headphones on the table.

"Just listen, then decide," she requested quietly. He studied her at length then, almost reluctantly, picked up the headset, put it on and with a last look at her, depressed the play button on the recorder. He hadn't even made it halfway through the recording when he took off the headphones and shoved the cassette player away from himself.

"No more," he told her, his horror reflected in his voice. "I don't know how you do it. How you deal with situations like this day in and day out. But I'm not you… I can't listen to this then go on with my day as though I never heard it."

"Milton, I'm sorry," she told him, sincerely, reaching across the table and laying her fingertips on top of his. "I need you to understand the enormity of what this little girl's facing. After hearing _that,_ can you honestly say that the man cares about the safety and well-being of his own child? Or does he see her as nothing more than a liability?"

"Do you realize what you're asking?" he asked, voice low and strained. "If I helped you… if it ever came out—"

"I do," she cut in. "Believe me, I do. I'm putting everything I've worked the last decade on the line, because _if_ it ever did come out, I would lose it all – my reputation, my license, the Agency. She's an innocent _child_. If I don't do everything in my power to keep her safe, I…" she lifted her hands and dropped them, her voice lowering, "I won't be able to live with myself." She nipped at her lower lip before adding, "I have to ask, even if it risks putting a friendship I value greatly at risk." Milton leaned back in his seat and fidgeted with a fork for some time, then with a shake of his head finally looked at her.

"I won't falsify the reports, Binky," he warned, "But after a reasonable wait, I'll notify the Court the sample we obtained was contaminated and we need the test redone. That should buy you three, maybe four weeks. It's the best I can do." She reached for his hand again, giving it a squeeze of gratitude.

"Thank you," she told him sincerely, passionately.

"I was really left little choice," he answered, with a wave of a hand towards the recorder. "I need to get back to the office." With that, he stood and removed his wallet from his rear pocket, but she waved him off.

"I'll take care of it." With a nod, he turned and left the restaurant without uttering so much as a goodbye, leaving Laura to watch after him, wondering if she'd just sacrificed a decade and a half friendship in order to do what was necessary to protect a little girl she hadn't even known a week before.

* * *

Remington strode through the doors of the Agency at a little after three, having wrapped up the initial layout of Finegold's first store. On Monday he'd confer with Monroe, place an order for the components they'd need and schedule the crew's start date, before he continued on to the second of Finegold's three stores.

"Mrs. Wolf, can you have Mildred step into Mrs. Steele's office, so we might go over where she stands on identifying the key we gave her earlier?" he requested, as he continued on to his office.

" _I could_ , although given I haven't seen Laura since this morning…" Bernice left the thought standing, then grinned at his back when his steps faltered as her response registered.

"What do you mean you haven't seen her since this morning?" he demanded to know, spinning on his heel to look at her.

"She hasn't been back," Bernice shrugged. His pulse picked up a step and his brows furrowed as any number of reasons, not a one of them good, traipsed through his mind. Perching his hip on the corner of Bernice's desk, snatched up the handset of the phone and dialed her car phone. When it went unanswered, he paged her.

"Put her through the minute she calls," he instructed Bernice, hanging up the phone, then taking to his feet. "Mildred," he reminded, pointing to his office.

" _Yes, sir, Mr. Steele_ ," she replied, sarcasm oozing through every syllable.

Removing his jacket and loosening his tie on the way into his office, he tossed his jacket on the back of a chair before reaching for the phone on his desk. Again, the car phone remained unanswered. He'd just punched in the office number to alert her pager again when Mildred walked in.

"You wanted to see me, Boss?" Standing, he leaned over and bussed her on the cheek.

"Where are we on identifying that key?" he inquired, as he circled his desk and sat down behind it.

"Already done," she announced. "It's for a safety deposit box at California National on Main. I gave the key to Bernard when he stopped in around noon. As executor he has the right to access it." She glanced at her watch. "He and Mrs. Steele should be there as we speak."

"Mrs…" Irritation tweaked him and he didn't finish the statement. _So much for staying out of the thick of things_ , he grumbled silently. Reaching into his pocket, he removed the envelope that had been stashed in Jill's coat. He'd glanced at the paper within while at Finegold's, and he'd lay good money that that the eight, total, series of numbers written upon it were account numbers with banks most likely originating I the Cayman Islands and Switzerland. Handing it to Mildred, he shared his suspicions. "Let's see what you and the team can dig up, eh? Mrs. Steele and I will be with the attorney at four, we'll check in once we're through."

"We'll get right on it," she promised.

"Thank you, Mildred, that'll be all." She tilted her head slightly, as the dismissal, but then, with a shrug of her shoulders, left the room.

Remington turned to stare out the window at the view before him. A few minutes later, resolved that he and Laura would be revisiting the topic she'd called off limits earlier, he tightened his tie, picked up his jacket and left the Agency for their appointment with the attorney.

* * *

Laura was already pacing the corridor outside of Abernathy's office when Remington arrived. With a tap of his lips to her cheek, he lay a hand on the small of her back and escorted her into the Suite. Once checked in, they took a seat in the waiting area. Picking up a magazine off the table next to her, she nervously thumbed through it, skimming titles, ignoring the rest.

"Busy afternoon?" he broached. She did a double take at his cool tone, her nerves suddenly forgotten.

"I had lunch with Milton then met Bernard at the bank to gather the contents of Clarissa's safe deposit box," she answered freely.

"Taking time to relax, catch up a bit with an old friend?" he speculated, feeling at least somewhat better that she hadn't spent the entire afternoon working the case, in opposition to their agreement.

"Not _exactly,_ " she drew out the last word, but then, infuriatingly, expounded no further.

"Lau-ra—" he began to admonish, quietly, only to find himself quite interrupted.

"Mr. & Mrs. Steele, Ms. Abernathy's ready for you," her receptionist informed them, holding a hand out indicating a hallway on the left. Standing, then offering Laura a hand up, the couple followed the young woman down the hallway to a spacious office on the end.

"Mr. & Mrs. Steele, Gloria Abernathy. It's a pleasure to meet you." The woman stood and came around her desk to offer each a hand. Neither was quite sure what they'd been expecting, but whatever it was, Abernathy was not quite it. The woman stood nearly as tall as Remington and was seventy if a day, her steel gray hair perfectly coiffed, her skin lined with wrinkles she made no attempt to hide, and her hazel eyes were sharp, taking in every detail of the couple.

"I wanted to thank you for getting the Court date pushed out a week so we'd have a chance to meet with you," Laura offered, as she took a seat next to Remington once handshakes were exchanged. Abernathy flipped a hand in her direction.

"I'm not much for _'emergency'_ hearings, although I've petitioned for the same more times than I can count across my career. I have generally found the Court is more than happy to let the wheels of justice turn slowly, if it means bettering the odds a case will not have to be reheard." Settled in her chair, she leveled her eyes on the pair. "Now, my paralegal has given me a brief synopsis: You were given guardianship over the child in question by her mother, and the father has petitioned to have her custody transferred to him as the natural parent. What else do I need to know?" Remington and Laura exchanged glances and he gave her a barely perceptible nod, indicating she should start.

"For our own peace of mind, we have a question of our own. Do you have any relationship or prior dealings with Deputy Chief Gabriel Castoro of the LAPD?" Laura questioned. Abernathy leaned back in her chair, her eyes never leaving them, clasping her hands over her middle as Remington was often prone to do.

"Given my practice focuses on family law, I'd have no cause to intermingle with the man on a professional level," she answered, straightforwardly. "I've been introduced to him a time or two at a charity function, but that is the extent of any knowledge I have of the man."

"Good, good," Remington responded, then holding out his hand, waited until Laura placed what he was seeking in his palm. Stretching an arm across the desk, he placed a picture face up in front of the attorney. "Last Saturday evening, Detective James Jarvis of the LAPD arrived on our doorstep with Sophia, under the belief she was my child by another woman… which I can assure you is not the case, at all."

"Sophie in the only witness to the attempt on her mother's life. The attack was… savage, and took place in their home," Laura stepped in. "I don't think I have to tell you, she's a very traumatized little girl, still barely speaking nearly a week after she arrived in our care."

"I can understand why," Abernathy acknowledged, her face revealing not a trace of emotion.

"The child's mother is a former client of ours," Remington continued. "We twice had the opportunity to speak with her whilst she was in Surgical ICU. She sent Sophie to us as, given our past association, she knew we would do whatever is required to keep the child safe. To that end, last Sunday, an attorney drew up papers, naming Laura and I as Sophie's guardians until Clarissa was well again," he shared a look with Laura as she handed him a set of papers from the file on her lap, "Or should Clarissa not make it, charged us with finding a safe home for the child." He passed the guardianship paperwork to the attorney. The Steele's waited until Abernathy perused the paperwork then set it aside.

"But now, the purported natural father has made a claim," Abernathy commented.

"It's more complicated than that," Laura answered, with a shake of her head. "While Clarissa insists Castoro is the natural father of Sophie, and that they have had a… personal… relationship for more than four years now, he is also the man who contracted the murder of Sophie's mother." The only indication of surprise Abernathy revealed was a blink of her eyes.

"That's a very serious allegation. One that I must advise is ill thought out, should it be nothing more than a means to keep a child from her father," the woman warned.

"We assure you, it's not a ruse," Remington replied. "We've already identified one possible perpetrator of the attack, a man by the name of Timothy Farrell, who also happens to be a detective in the LAPD."

"And how have you done that, if you don't mind my asking," Abernathy queried.

"On Monday morning, a second attempt was made on Sophie's mother's life, while still in the hospital," Laura explained. "This time, the attempt was successful. That same evening, Mr. Castoro make an unannounced visit to our home, seeking to take Sophie with him. In his company was another man. Upon seeing him, Sophie became… terror-stricken, to the point she wet herself."

"Did she identify this… Farrell… as one of her mother's attackers?" Laura shook her head.

"Not as of yet. She was too traumatized in the aftermath," she responded. "Once we identify the second suspect, we'll present Sophie with a photo line up and see if she can confirm our suspicions."

"This morning, Clarissa's cause of death was confirmed," Remington added. "Cardiac arrest due to an air embolism: a pocket of air injected into her bloodstream, causing her heart to stop. A review of security footage at the hospital, revealed a potential subject: Jill Lewis. Early this afternoon I paid her a visit, along with a couple of our investigators. As we approached her apartment, we witnessed two men leaving: men my investigators recognized from their stake out of one of Castoro's… interests. Like Clarissa, she had shared a personal relationship with Castoro for the better part of the year." He turned to look at Laura, and raised a brow at her. "And like, Clarissa, she was eliminated." Laura started at the news.

"Are you saying Jill's dead?" she demanded to know, a bit chafed she wasn't aware of this piece of news before now.

"As a doornail," he confirmed. "Before she died, she provided me the first names of her assailants and confirmed they were officers within the LAPD."

"But _why?_ " Laura inquired, as Abernathy looked on. "She'd done Castoro's bidding. Why eliminate her?"

"From what she told me, she could live with her role in Clarissa's death, but when it came to Sophie being harmed, she couldn't live with that," he expounded. "She told Castoro she was going to go the police, the FBI if she had to, to confess her part in Clarissa's death in order to assure Sophie would be safe from his evil intent."

"Do you have any proof to back up all these allegations?" Abernathy cut in. This time, it was Remington left shaking his head.

"Not yet," he admitted, then thought to add, "Although we're getting close."

"Then, until you do, if we all agree I'll move forward on the custody issue, none of this will be introduced as a matter of record," Abernathy informed them. "Judge McCord frowns upon what she views as mudslinging, which she could view this as without proof. We don't wish to begin on the wrong foot with her."

"Understood," Laura agreed. "We simply feel it's necessary for _you_ to understand the risk Sophie will face should her father be awarded custody."

"As far as you know, does he have any proof of paternity?" Abernathy pressed. "Is his name on the child's birth certificate? Has paternity been established by the Court for the purpose of child support?" Laura reached into the file again, and passed a piece of paper to the attorney.

"As you can see, Mr. Castoro's name doesn't appear on Sophie's birth certificate," Laura noted. "I would speculate he's never paid child support, but that's all it would be: speculation."

"Easily enough answered. I'll have my assistant make a call to the Clerk of Court and see if an order's ever been established." Abernathy leaned forward and scribbled a note on the pad sitting in front of her. "Is there anything else?" Nodding, Laura extracted the recorder from her purse and laid it on the attorney's desk.

"This," she said simply, then hit play. The room fell silent as the tape played out through its completion.

"How did this come to be in your possession?" Laura and Remington exchanged glances at the question.

"Sophie's mother," was all Remington offered. It wasn't precisely a falsehood. Clarissa _had_ recorded it, and had made certain to secret it away to use one day, if need be.

"I'd like you to make a copy of it and have it delivered to my office," the attorney instructed. "It might come in handy depending on the claims the Plaintiff makes." She leaned forward and folded her hands on the desk in front of her. "Given what I've heard here," she indicated the tape, "As well as the lack of a declared father on the birth certificate, I believe our first step needs to be requesting that the Court establish paternity. Are you familiar with DNA testing?" Laura reached for Remington's hand and gave it a squeeze. What the attorney had just suggested was what she'd already set the stage for.

"We are," Remington answered.

"It will generally take four to six weeks for the results to come back, but given we have a child who just lost a parent and an individual making a claim of parentage, I imagine the Court will request the test be fast tracked," Abernathy informed them. "Even then, we are looking at ten to fourteen business days before the results are returned then another five to seven business days before our next appearance in front of the Court. Are you prepared to take responsibility for Sophie's care for that duration?"

"It's why we're here," Remington replied, firmly. "We gave her mother our word, and that is not something either of us take lightly."

"I would expect, given the child's one legal parent is deceased, that Judge McCord will leave Sophie in your care, per the mother's request, until paternity is determined, one way or the other," Abernathy apprised. "McCord may, or may not, request a home study to make sure the child will have suitable accommodations—"

"What specifically would a home study look at?" Laura interrupted to ask.

"Looking at you, knowing your reputation in LA, I doubt any concerns would be raised," the attorney hazarded. "I'd assume the home is safe, clean and the child has appropriate clothing, a bed to sleep in?"

"She and our daughter are sharing a room. Is that permissible?" Laura wondered, inwardly cringing as she recalled she and Remington were to have taken a long weekend to prepare the nursery and the girls' room.

"It's not an issue. Siblings, even foster siblings, have shared rooms since long before my time," Abernathy answered, smiling for the first time. "If you choose to retain my services, my secretary will have paperwork for you to complete. A retainer of fifteen-hundred is required, and I bill at two hundred an hour. Letters of recommendation are not required, but the Court gives weight to them. It wouldn't hurt to contact the child's pediatrician and assure all her check-ups have been completed, her vaccinations are up-to-date. As far as Court goes next week, we'll meet in a conference room on the third floor at nine-thirty, review anything new that may have come up, then go over our strategy." The Steele's exchanged looks, the Laura pulled out her wallet and wrote a check covering the retainer.

"We'll have the paperwork and letters of recommendation messengered over on Monday morning," Laura promised. The couple stood and exchanged handshakes with Abernathy, and with paperwork from secretary in hand, they departed.

* * *

Remington and Laura stopped by Century Towers to stow the Porsche in the garage, then drove home together in the Jeep. As was now routine, the M3 was left for Melina each morning, as she'd volunteered long ago to pick up Olivia – and now Olivia and Sophie – from preschool when it ended each day at three. On the drive home, Remington had shared the entirety of what had happened at Jill's earlier that afternoon, as well the contents of the envelope she'd had him retrieve from her fur. Recalling his promise to call Mildred and check-in after their appointment with Abernathy, he'd called from the Jeep only to find she had yet to make any headway on the list of numbers.

Laura parked the Jeep in front of the carport, where the M3 was already ensconced. If Melina decided to go out that evening, she was more than welcome to make use of the Jeep. That thought served as another reminder: She and Remington still hadn't spoken with Melina about the plans they'd devised some nights back. With a muffled groan, she climbed down out of the driver's seat, then paused with a hand gripping the roll bar for support, and leaned back trying to stretch the kink out of her back which had hounded her all day. A headache was threatening, and the lengthy list of everything in front of them that evening and over the weekend promised to make it a doozy before the night was through.

"We'll take care of that once we've gotten the girls down for the evening," Remington promised, before laying a hand on the small of her back and guiding her to their front door, while Laura created a mental to-do list.

Touch base with Bernard, see where he was with Clarissa's funeral arrangements and how much he might need to cover those expenses until the life insurance check was issued. Fill Remington in on her lunch meeting with Milton. Go through the envelope which had been in Clarissa's safe deposit box. Tomorrow, pick up Thomas and Catherine at the airport. Contact Murphy and Sherry, Frances and Donald, Bernice and Jason, and Mildred, requesting those letters of recommendations by Monday morning first thing, at the latest. Try to locate Sophie's pediatrician. Purchase a second bed, bedding and paint for the girls' room. Paint, then move the girls to their new room. Reestablish the nursery. Dinner with Thomas and Catherine. Then on Sunday, it was their turn to host the every other Sunday get together with her sister and family. Of course, on top of all that, there were the normal weekend routines to accommodate: dusting, laundry, dry cleaners, grocery shopping. She resisted the urge to groan aloud as Remington opened the door for her.

"Mommy!" Olivia screeched on their entrance, dancing excitedly in place for a split second before running for the entryway, Sophie on her heels. "Da!" she threw herself at her father, who easily lifted her in his arms, before twinkling blue eyes landed on her.

"What's this all about, mo stor?" he asked, bemused, setting her back on her feet when she tried to wriggle out of his embrace. Both he and Laura found a much smaller hand grasping one of theirs as Olivia tugged them towards the stair.

"Come see. Come see!" she demanded excitedly. Laura glanced at Remington, who merely raised a brow and shrugged a shoulder. He captured one of Sophie's hands in his.

"Let's see what has Livvie so excited, hmmmm?" he suggested. It was clear, however, by the little girl's bright green eyes, she knew exactly what that was.

At the top of the stairs, Olivia turned right then left into the first guest room. Releasing her parents' hands, she threw herself up on her bed and began jumping up and down.

"C'mon, Sophie!" she yelled in encouragement. Laura was so distracted by the room in front of her, the thought to admonish her daughter about the dangers of jumping on beds never occurred to her. Melina joined the melee as Laura walked around the room, taking it all in.

"Someone's been busy today, I see," she commented, slanting her eyes in the direction of her husband.

"I'm afraid, I can only take credit for the phone calls," said husband corrected, while slinging an arm around his sister's waist. "Melina and Jocelyn are due the accolades. They oversaw the men, not to mention somehow managed to convinced the store manager to deliver Sophie's bed today." Laura crossed the room and enveloped Melina in a warm hug.

"Thank you," she told her sister-in-law sincerely. "I was just wondering how we were going to get the girls' room done with everything that we have to do this weekend. It's so much more manageable now that it's just the nursery." In a heartbeat, the pounding headache that was lurking had eased a bit on seeing the room.

"You need not worry about it either," Melina announced with a proud smile. "It, too, is done." Laura's eyes widened and at Remington's nod, she sidled past the two and walked down the hallway to see for herself.

And, indeed, it was. She ran her fingertips along the rail of the crib. Somehow, seeing it there made their quickly approaching new lives a reality. In a matter of only a few weeks, their new son or daughter would sleep in this crib, be fed in that rocker. Olivia's nursery had been replicated nearly identically, except that none of Remington's sketches hung above the crib this time. She was surprised by the nostalgic melancholy, tinged with regret, that the realization brought. She startled when a pair of hands touched her sides, then smiled and relaxed against a firm chest, when arms reached around to embrace her.

"They're at the framers and should be ready the middle of next week," Remington offered.

"You're a good man, Mr. Steele," she praised quietly. He nuzzled his cheek against the side of her head, and laughed softly.

"Ah, you say that now, but will you feel the same in a few hours is the question." She leaned her head back and gave him a curious look.

"Why wouldn't I?" she asked, truly puzzled.

"Because you and I…" he bussed her on the cheek then released her, "…are going to fight."

She could only watch, slack jawed, as he left the room.


	28. Chapter 27: Intractable

Chapter 27: Intractable

It's not easy… actually close to damned near impossible… to relax when it's been announced a fight is looming on the horizon. As such, Laura fidgeted throughout dinner, as she speculated about what, exactly, it was they were going to fight about. Other than the discussion she'd tabled earlier in the day about she and the girls taking flight, she could come up with not a single thing she'd done… or said… which would provoke a fight. Fight. That was the optimal word. Not argue. They argued, after all, almost daily, sometimes several times a day given they were both stubborn by nature. But he'd said fight, which meant there'd be no compromise, only a victor.

Several times throughout the meal, she'd studied Remington at length, trying to get a bead on what it might be. He'd flash her a quick smile when he'd catch her, but nothing in his body language gave her a hint of what might be on his mind… or, hell, even that he had anything on his mind at all. She was simply left to stew in it all until he decided to have it out, a situation which didn't set well with her, not at all. By the time dinner was over, she'd grown sufficiently frustrated that her own temper had begun to heat. Fight they might, but it would be on her own timetable, not his.

Thus, after the meal was over, she'd helped him clean up the kitchen, as was their norm, while Melina kept the girls entertained. They'd spoken with one another as though no announcement had been mde, their conversation focusing on his father and Catherine's arrival the following day. As had become tradition, Thomas and Catherine would be staying at the Rossmore, although the flat was considerably different than when they'd departed after the New Year. Remington had decided it was time renovate kitchen and bath, and bring the condo into the 90's to maintain the unit's market value. Both were newly sleek, and furnished with top of the line everything. Given his father, like he, was a chef of his own making, Remington was particularly enthused by the prospect of Thomas's reactions to the kitchen upgrades.

With their own kitchen now clean, Laura left him to his own devices while she rounded up Olivia and Sophie for bath and their bedtime routine. Livvie, as expected, had kicked up a fuss, given there was no school the following day, only happily cooperating when her mother reminded her Granddad and Grans would be arriving the following morning. Then, the little girl chattered incessantly, telling Sophie about the things she would do with her grandparents and peppering her mother with questions. Would they go to the zoo again? The children's museum? Would there be a trip to San Diego to see the dolphins in the offing?

Remington arrived in time for the nightly bedtime routine, resting his back against the headboard and stretching out his lanky frame on Olivia's small bed, his daughter contentedly curling into his side, and shoving a pair of fingers into her mouth. His hand rhythmically stroked Livvie's back and hair, helping to settle her in and lull her off to sleep. Laura mimicked his position on the second bed, her heart clutching when Sophie tentatively eased herself closer. With purpose meant to seem an unconscious gesture, Laura's hand glided whisper soft over Sophie's back and arm, as she kept her focus on that night's choice of bedtime story, _Goodnight, Moon._ Before the story was over, Sophie's thumb had found her mouth and she rested her head against Laura's leg. Unwillingly to let the moment end, Laura read the book a second, then a third time, until both children were fast asleep. Once they were tucked in and kisses were pressed against foreheads, Remington lay a hand on the small of Laura's back to lead her from the room.

"Perhaps we should…" He nodded towards the stairs, a silent suggestion that they take the impending 'discussion' to somewhere far removed from the children's ears. She tilted her head to the side, then shook it in the negative.

"You go ahead. I'll be down in a little while." He stilled, his eyes searching her face then gave a sharp nod of his head that clearly said _Ah, so that's how you wish to play this, eh?_ Without another word spoken, he turned on his heel and strode towards the stairs.

When Laura arrived downstairs a little more than an hour later, she found the house silent. A slight breeze wafting at the curtains by the French doors leading out back provided a clue as to where she might find Remington. After stopping to pick up a throw off the arm of the sofa, she stepped onto the veranda. The air had grown cool on this February evening, and finding both the chaises and hammock empty, she turned her gaze towards the fireplace on the other side of the pool. There, she found Remington, feet propped up on the table in front of a sofa, brooding, as he nursed a glass of scotch.

"Tell me, Laura," he spoke, before she even made her presence known, "Why is it when you wish to…" he waved his glass in the air, "… Have it out, shall we say, that I'm expected to come to heel, whether I wish to or not. Yet, when it is I…" he paused to knock back a swig of scotch as she rounded the couch and set the baby monitor on the table near his feet "… When it is I who wishes to do the same, you feel compelled to remind me that Laura Holt heeds the demands of no one, until she is bloody well ready to do so?"

She crossed her arms and averted her face, rubbing at her arms while she gave the question true consideration.

"I don't know," she answered honestly, lifting her hands and dropping them. "I guess I've never really looked at it like that before." She sat down on the sofa catty corner to him, and tucking her legs beneath her, draped the throw over stomach and legs. "I suppose it could be because I've spent most of my life having to stand my ground if I didn't want to be seen as the weaker opponent." She gave a shrug of her shoulders. "Or it could simply be I don't like feeling a child sent to the principal's office, left to sit outside his office for hours while having no idea what it is that I've supposedly done."

"Don't you?" he posed the question. "Have an idea?" She lifted her hands and dropped them again while shaking her head.

"No, I don't."

"Do we or do we not have an agreement in regard to this case?" he asked, drawing on his drink again.

"Yes, we do," she acknowledged. "And I've honored it." He gave her a quelling look.

"Have you now?" Her brows lifted at both the tone and question.

" _Yes_ … I have," she insisted emphatically.

"Ah, I see. So supposing…" he gesticulated with his hand "Just supposing, if I were to have, say, gone by the office before our meeting with Abernathy, I would have found you there then, hmmm?" She rolled her eyes in answer.

"Are you kidding me?!" she exclaimed. "All of this is because I _had lunch with Milton!?_ " That was news to him, but he never so much as blinked, instead taking another drink.

"And that's it. Lunch with Milton then on to Abernathy's?"

"No," she elongated the word. "I met Bernard at the bank to collect the contents of Clarissa's safe deposit box. I thought we'd look through—"

"The bank," he stepped in. "Had you given any thought to the possibility Castoro might know about that safety deposit box? That he might, oh…" he waved a sarcastic hand in the air, "Have had a couple of his men staking it out, with orders—"

"Been watching too many late night movies again, have we?" she asked, sarcastically. She flinched when he slammed down his glass onto the table and took to his feet.

"Movies…" he mulled. "Now that you mention it, I seem to recall another time we took a trip to the movies, under similar circumstances." His eyes landed on her rounded tummy. She blanched and her stomach clenched at the reminder.

They'd never even seen it coming, then. It had been what appeared to be a routine case. An attorney. Random attempts on his life. The work of a disgruntled, prior client it had seemed. A set up. All of it. And she'd nearly lost him in the process. Memories flooded her, made her pulse race, her heart pound, a sheen of fine sweat broke out over her skin. The baby she was now carrying reacted to the sudden altering of her physical state, a foot jamming into her bladder before it began tumbling about, protesting.

"That's not fair," she breathed.

"Fair or not, am I wrong? A seemingly innocent case, which could have cost us everything!" he retorted vehemently. "Now… Now, this time, we know the dangers. Clarissa is dead! Jill! We've a terrified little girl upstairs who watched as two men butchered her mother! Not to mention the deaths of who knows how many others on the man's hands?! We're already putting on the line all that matters most by keeping a child safe, but you… _you!_... have to tempt the fates, because you can't stand to be sidelined!" Her riotous emotions brought on by the memories pricked her own temper.

"I went to a _bank!_ " she protested vehemently.

"As a part of _this case_!" he yelled in answer. "I asked you for one thing… _one thing_ … that I cannot do, as much as I wish I could, and that is to keep our child safe!" Now, she, too, took to her feet.

"You're being _ridiculous!_ " she accused, and threw her arms out. " _Nothing happened!_ I'm fine, the baby's fi—"

"By sheer provenance!" he bellowed. "What would you have done—"

" _Nothing_ happened!" she repeated, again.

"But it _could have_ ," he argued. His chest heaved, and he rubbed at his face with his hands while fighting to calm his temper. When next he spoke, it was much more quietly, but still anger edged. "How many times have you walked into a situation believing all would be fine only for it to turn out elsewise? The warehouse with Gillespie. McBride's apartment. Wally's apartment. UNIDAC. Your own loft where Anna awaited you. Need I go on?"

"How many times has someone come after us where we believed we were safe?" she countered. "Veckmer and my house! Econocon and Wally at my loft! DesCoine and Dancer at the Agency! Clarissa Custer and Dancer, again, at your flat! Safety is an illusion, Remington. You don't think Clarissa or Jill felt safe in _their own homes?!_ " His stomach tied into knots at the reminder.

"Exactly my point! Which is why you and the girls are leaving until the bugger is behind bars!" he pronounced. She stilled, her eyes narrowed, and, crossing her arms, she shook her head, slowly, adamantly.

"Not happening." His jaw clenched.

"For once in your life, be reasonable, woman!" Her lips drew together tightly at the words and her eyes flashed fire. "This has nothing to do with proving you're as capable of taking care of yourself as well as any man. This is—"

"About _our family_ ," she cut in. "Do you have any idea what it would do to Olivia to be separated from you for an extended time? We're not speaking about you and I taking a long weekend alone together, when she understands there is an expiration date to how long we'll be gone. _You_ are the most important person in our little girl's life. It's _you_ who she looks for as soon as she wakes in the morning, and it's you she waits for a goodnight kiss from before she'll sleep. It's you she goes to when she's frightened, _you_ that she wants after a nightmare, and it's her 'special time' alone with you each week that she looks forward to. She'd not going to understand you suddenly disappearing from her life. I won't…" she pulled in a deep breath of air, as memories of the days after her father left assailed her "… _She_ won't know what that feels like!"

"It's for the best, Lau—"

"Listen, to me," she insisted, approaching him, her voice rising further. "You're willing to turn our entire lives upside down for something that will likely _never happen_ ," she drew out the last four words, and grasped his upper arms in her hands. "This is it, Mr. Steele. The last child we'll have. Do you really want to possibly miss out on the remainder of this pregnancy, even the birth of our child?"

"Do I want to?" he cut in this time, his own voice rising. He shook off her hands and strode several feet away from her. "You bloody well know I don't! But if that's the sacrifice I have to make to keep—"

"Well, I'm not! I'm not willing to give up my time with you! I'm not willing to give birth to this child on my own! I'm not willing to upset our daughter or to confuse, traumatize Sophie further when there has been no indication… _none!..._ that Castoro plans to make a move against us!"

"Can you, just this once, not be so bloody intractable?" he yelled.

"In—," she didn't finish the word, lifting a hand to knead at her brow, while slipping another behind her back to rub at the spot which had gone from uncomfortable to throbbing. She took in his heaving chest, his clenched jaw, the muscle twitching below his cheek. In the end, it was the panic and desperation she found in his blue eyes that helped her find her footing. Approaching him for a second time, she took his hand in hers. "Come. Come sit down with me," she urged, softly. Heaving a heavy sigh and swiping at his mouth, he followed her with unhidden reluctance.

"Laura…"

"Sit," she ordered, quietly but firmly. He sat down heavily on the couch, then dropped his head into hands supported by elbows to knees. She squelched a groan when she sat down next to him, then leaned back against the cushions and propped her feet on the edge of the table trying to find a little relief for her back. Tentatively, she reached out and lay a hand on his back, trying not to take offense at how he stiffened slightly beneath it. "Do you remember when DesCoine entered our lives for the second time?"

"I hardly see—"

"Do you remember?" she repeated, as her hand began to move against his back.

"It's not something I'll likely everas forget." She nodded her head, unseen.

"Do you remember what you said to me, when we were in the cab?"

* * *

 _ **"I was hoping you'd teach me how to stand and fight, hmm?"**_

* * *

Remington sighed wearily, and leaned back against the cushion. Laura moved her hand from behind him and reached for his hand instead, tangling their fingers together.

"I seem to remember a great deal of things were said," he finally answered.

"You said you hoped I'd teach you to stand and fight," she reminded him.

"Laura…" Closing his eyes, he lifted his free hand to drag his fingers through his hair.

"Just listen to me," she requested, keeping her voice soothing. "I understand your fear… _I do_. But I think that fear is clouding your judgment." When he moved to stand, she clung to his hand, holding tight. "Remington, just hear me out. _For us_." He turned his head to look at her, then with a frustrated sigh, settled back against the cushions. "Castoro filed _in court_ for custody of Sophie. Whether he meant to or not, he's shone a spotlight on himself. He's hasn't managed to live this…" she searched for a word "…double life by being stupid. By now, he'll have realized that through that Court filing alone, should anything happen to Sophie… or us… that he will be one of the primary suspects. And you and I, we're not Clarissa or Jill. An attack on us will not go unnoticed. You've been a much-liked public figure in Los Angeles for _years._ Then there's the fact that we have connections. Anything that happened to us, or her, would bring far too much attention on himself and put at risk everything he is trying to conceal – the very reason he had Clarissa and Jill killed. Whether he meant it to be an outcome of that Court filing or not, we're safe. At least far safer than we were before he made that move."

His eyes had held steady on her face as she spoke, now he shook his head.

"You assume the man is sane, rational," he pointed out.

"No, I assume the criminal enterprise he has killed to keep under wraps is more important to him than a little girl he has never claimed and has not spoken a word of what she witnessed that night," she countered.

" _He_ doesn't know that," he reminded her. She pursed her lips and nodded slowly.

"So we make sure Abernathy brings up in Court that since the loss of her mother Sophie has withdrawn fully into herself," she suggested. "It's not only accurate, but a child who's not speaking is hardly a risk."

"I don't know. I don't know," he leaned his head back and rubbed both hands over his face, before dropping them into his lap. "I can't shake the feeling…" he shook his head. He'd finally calmed enough that she chanced he'd be receptive to her touch. Reaching out, she cupped his cheek, her thumb stroking it.

"We're going to be okay, Remington. I promise." He closed his eyes and leaned into her hand. For long seconds he concentrated on her touch, then his eyes blinked open.

"Laura," he grasped her hand, and drew it up to his mouth to brush lips against knuckles. "You, Olivia…" he dropped his hand to lay palm to her belly, "…This child. _This_ is what matters most to me. I can't-" She turned and tucked herself into his now waiting arm.

"Do you think it's any different for me?" she asked. She took his hand in hers and threaded their fingers together. "How many times did I willingly put the Agency on the line for you in those first years? I would walk away from everything – our home, our financial security, the Agency – if it meant keeping you, Olivia or this baby safe. I just don't think we're at that point."

"And if you believe we've come to that point?" She gave a single shake of her head.

"Then, without question, I pack up the girls and myself and we go somewhere safe." He let out long breath, then rested his chin against the top of her head.

With Laura Holt Steele, such a concession was the best he'd get from her, and it would have to suffice.


	29. Chapter 28: Blossoming

Chapter 28: Blossoming

In the wee hours of Saturday morning, when not even a hint of the moon could be found in the dark, cloud filled skies, and the pitter patter of rain could be heard between the claps of thunder, Laura shifted restlessly in Remington's embrace. Eyes blinking open, she was unsure what had roused her, until the next round of piercing screams resonated from the monitor on the table next to Remington's side of the bed. This time, he jolted awake, as well, bleary eyes searching the room, as Laura pressed up into a sitting position.

"Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I'll take care of it." Closing his eyes, he nodded, gratefully, the corners of his lips twitching upwards when she pressed a kiss to his cheek. As she struggled for her feet and fumbled for her robe at the foot of the bed, a smile of her own lifted her lips as she heard the conversation on the monitor.

"It's okay, Sophie," Olivia's voice came over the monitor. A rustling sound crossed the monitor. "I'll sleep with you. It's okay."

Pride infused Laura's heart, making it ache. She had never imagined she could be so proud of one human being, yet it had been the case since Olivia arrived in the world, and with each passing day, she only grew more so. Olivia was bright, funny, good natured – for the most part – and intelligent and articulate beyond her years. Laura suspected the last was a side-effect of having spent three years surrounded by adults at the Agency. But she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, where her daughter's compassionate heart hailed. _That_ was her father, through-and-through.

She found the girls in Sophie's bed together facing one another, Livvie patting the other little girl's arm.

"You're a good friend, Livvie Bee," she leaned down and whispered into her daughter's ear, then kissed her on the cheek.

"Sophie's scared," Olivia explained.

"I see that," Laura acknowledged as she rounded the small bed, to sit on the other side of Sophie. She lay a hand on the little girl's trembling back and began to rub. "Sophie, do you want to tell me about it?"

"I… want… my… Mommy," the little girl sobbed.

"I know you do, baby. And I promise you, if she could be here with you, she would be. She loved you so, so much," Laura soothed. Another clap of thunder sounded, making Sophie jump and cry louder. With a nod, Laura made an executive decision. "Alright, girls, let's go get in bed with Da." Olivia sat up and stared at her mother, wide-eyed. It was a very rare treat when she was permitted to sleep with her parents, generally only when she was very sick. "Let's go." She stood and held out her arm towards the door.

Olivia bolted from the bed, tugging at Sophie's hand.

"C'mon, Sophie!"

Sophie crawled out from beneath sheet and comforter and followed behind Olivia into Laura and Remington's room, her feet stalling at the edge of the bed, while Olivia tumbled into it. Remington's eyes blinked open again, staring into a bright blue pair of eyes that matched his own, then looked towards Laura with confusion.

"The storm," she mouthed.

His eyes widened in a silent _Ahhhhh_ of recognition, as Olivia snuggled in next to him, and Laura encouraged Sophie up and in. Soon, the two girls were sound asleep between them, Olivia's back nestled against Remington's chest and facing Sophie, who was nestled against Laura and her expanding stomach. Only when Remington's hand reached for Laura's, their fingers weaving together, did she, too, sleep.

* * *

Remington woke to a small hand patting his cheek.

"Da. Da!" Opening his eyes, he found Olivia peering back at him, while her legs restlessly squirmed about. "I have to go potty." With ease, he lifted his small daughter, and turning, set her on her feet on the floor.

"Off with you, then, mo stor," he directed. "Da will be in to help you dress in just a moment."

He watched Olivia half-dance, half-run from the room, then turned to face Laura. At some point during the morning hours, Sophie had turned away from Livvie and to Laura, and now slept with her head tucked against Laura's bosom and hand grasping her waist. Whether consciously or unconsciously, he didn't know, Laura had returned the young girl's embrace, an arm wrapped around the child's back and a hand cradling the back of her head. Leaning down, he touched his lips to Laura's forehead, then rolled out of their bed.

Saturday mornings meant time for he and Olivia exclusively. For two years, bi-weekly early field times at the polo club had meant having to alter their Saturday plans. When he and Laura had decided to have a second child, he'd finally put his foot down: as a longtime member of the club, either field time was changed to mid-day or he'd move his horse, and his hefty annual fees, to another club. These days, his and Olivia's Saturday morning traditions were no longer interfered with, nor were his and Laura's date nights.

After a quick shave then a change of clothing into a pair of jeans, a chambray oxford and tennis shoes, he slipped out of the bathroom to find Sophie sitting up, sleep dazed and trying to assimilate her environment. He plucked her up off the bed before she could think.

"Come along, Sophie, Lady Olivia awaits and should we wait too long she'll call for both our heads," he announced good naturedly, hoisting her onto a hip as he left the master bedroom. He ignored her wide-eyed look. "Do you need to use the bathroom?" At the nod of her head, he dropped her to her feet in the guest bath. "There you go. Have a brush of your teeth while you're at it then come get dressed, hmmm?" The little girl nodded solemnly and he took his leave.

In the girls' bedroom he found Olivia standing on tiptoe in front of her closet, attempting to yank one of her fancier dresses from a hanger.

"And what are you about, Livvie Bee?" Remington inquired, bemused.

"Granddad and Grans are coming," she reminded him excitedly.

"Ahhh, that they are, but not until lunch. And we don't wish for one of Grans' pretties to be soiled by our breakfast and errands, now do we?" he proposed, sweeping her up and plopping her on the bed. "So, for now, what's say we keep things simple, hmmm?" He selected two skirt/shirt combos from the closet for she and Sophie, then retrieved tights from their dresser and shoes from closet. Sophie returned from the bathroom in time to find Remington dressing Olivia, as the latter prattled on about what they might make for breakfast that morning. The little girl stood barely inside the door watching the unfamiliar scene of a father helping his daughter dress, happily so, at that, while conducting a running conversation with her.

"Your turn, Sophie girl," Remington announced turning his blue eyes to her once Olivia was dressed. Warily, Sophie approached him. He made it a point to keep up the chatter with Olivia as he assisted Sophie, trying to put the little girl at ease, pausing when the little girl jerked and what passed as a giggle crossed her lips. He turned a mischievous grin on the little girl. "Ticklish then, are you?" With that he playfully dug his fingers into her sides, and, helplessly, her gales of laughter trickled across the room.

"Me, too, Da! Me, too!" Olivia chortled excitedly, and quick as a wink he had both girls on the floor, laughing and screeching. "Get Da! Get Da!" Olivia eventually gasped, and Remington, per tradition, collapsed on the ground and laughed as first Olivia, then eventually Sophie, took their turns at tickling him.

"You win, you win," he declared after a minute or so, dragging both down for a buss on the forehead. "You girls are far superior ticklers than I," he decreed, before standing and sweeping a little girl up under each arm and carrying them like potato sacks to the bathroom, as Olivia continued to laugh with glee. With both girls' hair quickly, and with ease, pulled back in ponytails, he escorted them downstairs to the kitchen, where he lifted them onto the barstools stationed at the kitchen island for just this purpose.

"So, what's it to be, Livvie Bee? Eggs, sausage and French Toast, or bacon, waffles and fruit, eh?" he inquired as he filled a kettle with water and set it upon the stove.

"Waffles!" she insisted, as he knew he would. Waffles meant she'd be permitted to ladle the batter into the waffle iron, and fill the fruit bowls to her heart's content.

"Waffles it is, then," he agreed easily, stacking the island with the necessary items for the meal. "So, mo stor, tell me all about preschool happenings this week," he requested, as he quickly and efficiently diced and sliced the fruit the girls would then place into the bowls. Olivia regaled him with stories of Belinda spilling paint all over herself, Molly skinning her knee on the playground, and Matthew pulling girls' hair.

"Billy eats all our paste!" Sophie ventured into the conversation. Disguising his surprise, he lifted a bemused brow at the little girl.

"Well, that doesn't seem a tasty snack, now does it? Not unless one, say, uses it for icing on a cupcake." Both little girls' eyes widened in disgust.

"Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwww," the proclaimed in unison.

By the time Laura wandered downstairs, wrapped in her robe, both girls were chattering away. She stumble-stepped at the scene before her. Sophie? Willingly, and happily conversing? Remington caught the look of surprise on her face, and leaned down as she poured herself a cup of tea, speaking in undertones, "Apparently a good round of tickling goes a long way," he informed her, then thought to add, "Or perhaps she finds cuddling up to you a cure for her ills as I do, hmmmm." Laughing, she swatted at his arm, and joined the conversation at the bar.

A few minutes later, Melina joined the fray, and soon the family was seated at the dining table enjoying breakfast with one another. Both girls continued the regale the table with stories of preschool, when suddenly Olivia sat up straight remembering something. Wiggling down from her seat, she ran to the entryway then returned with her backpack.

"We're having a Balentine Day party!" she declared.

"Valentine's Day," Laura corrected gently, emphasizing the 'v'.

"We have to bring cards and treats," Livvie continued, pulling a red sheet of paper out of her bag and shoving it under Laura's nose. Skimming it, Laura passed the paper on to Remington.

"Then perhaps while we run our errands today, we should see about buying those cards?" he suggested. Olivia's face lit up, and she nodded enthusiastically, while Sophie sat quietly. "Sophie? Do you not wish to?" he asked gently. Realizing she, too, was to be included on this excursion, she nodded happily. "Then off you both get," he ordered, with a relaxed wave of his hand. "Hands washed, teeth brushed, and then we'll leave." The two girls scrambled from their places to run upstairs.

"The difference in Sophia today is remarkable," Melina observed, as the three adults cleared the table.

"Goes to show how well a goodnight's rest can bode a person," Remington answered. Melina narrowed her eyes at him.

"I suspect you've a hand in this, Xen." He shrugged a careless shoulder.

"I've done nothing more than include Sophie in my and Olivia's morning antics," he dismissed.

"And in doing so, showed Sophia not all men will pretend she doesn't exist or threaten to harm her," she nodded her approval.

"A lesson Marcos taught me well, if you recall," he reminded her.

"Papa's a good man, Xen," she wrapped her arms around his neck, "And so are you. I'm proud to have you as my brother." Embarrassed, he quickly bussed Melina on the cheek, then grasping Laura's hand drug her from the kitchen under Melina's knowing laughter.

"We'll be back in plenty of time for Father's arrival," he told Laura, drawing her to him. "Perhaps now would be a good time to discuss with Lina your plans for helping other women in Clarissa's situation?" he suggested with lifted brows.

"I'd planned to," she answered, then gave him a pert grin. "Are you sure you're up to _two_ three-year-olds for this little excursion of yours, Mr. Steele?" she teased, toying with the hair on the back of his neck.

"Mmmmm, if you see it as such a challenge then perhaps I should expect a reward for a job well done this evening if successful?" he suggested, whilst toying with a tendril of hair. Warm brown eyes smiled up at him.

"I imagine that could be arranged," she agreed, stroking a hand over his shoulder, then down his back.

"L'Ornate or Chez Rives for dinner this evening?" She tilted her head and gave it consideration.

"I was thinking the club? It may be our last chance for an evening of dancing before the baby arrives." He lowered a hand to rest on her stomach.

"And how is Baby Steele this morning?" She lifted her brows at him.

"Sleeping, would be my guess, and hopefully remains that way so I can get a few things done around here this morning." He leaned down and stole a kiss from her lips, then gave her bottom a teasing smack, which earned him a feigned glare.

"I'll make the reservations from the car," he promised, as Livvie and Sophie came charging down the stairs, then leaned in for one more quick kiss.

"Alright, girls, you be good for Da," Laura instructed Livvie and Sophie before leaning down and giving each a hug and a kiss. "I'll see you when you get home."

"Yes, Mommy," Olivia answered, while Sophie nodded her head in answer. She stood back and watched as the threesome departed, then rejoined Melina in the kitchen.

"Melina, in case I haven't said it lately, thank you for all your help with the children," Laura told her sister-in-law she took her position in front of the sink and began rinsing plates and placing them in the dishwasher while Melina wiped down table and counters.

"It is family," Melina replied, dismissively.

"Still, I know you came here looking for time to clear your head, figure things out. That can't be easy to do while chasing two active preschoolers around." She pursed her lips, then plunged in. "Have you figured anything out yet?" Melina stopped wiping the counter, and stilled for long seconds, before resuming to the task.

"As much as I miss my family, I can no longer envision my future in Oia," she answered quietly. "Before Giorgos and I met, I had been making plans to move to Recco or Marseille. To find a career, a future for myself. Oia is not large, and so long as I remain there, I will work for Papa, and likely never meet the man I am intended to marry, have a family with." She sighed. "I will spend my last years as an old maid, never having accomplished anything more than working for my father."

"It sounds like you've made a decision," Laura observed. Melina nodded her head slowly.

"I like Los Angeles. There are many opportunities here, and the water is near at hand." She sighed again. "I cannot imagine living anywhere without the ocean, the sea nearby. And I like having time with my brother… and you and Olivia as well. I feel I am at last making up time for all those years Xen was lost to us."

"And Marcos and Elena? Will they approve?" Laura wondered. The Adrokus family was bathed in Greek tradition, and generally an unmarried woman remained at home.

"They know Xen will watch over me, be certain no harm befalls me, that I bring no shame upon our family. They would entrust me to him, the same as they would Zeth or Christos." She paused again at length. "If I have overstayed my wel—"

"No!" Laura cut in, adamantly. "God, no. We love having you here with us, and so does Olivia – despite what her behavior at times might suggest." The two women laughed. Turning off the water in the sink, Laura turned and leaned her backside against the counter. "Actually, if you were planning to remain in LA, there's something I'd like to speak with you about. A job proposition." Melina's green eyes glimmered with interest.

"A job?" she queried. Laura nodded, then filled her in on their plans to aid women and families in crisis. "And you wish me to work for this foundation?"

"Actually, Xen and I were thinking more along of the lines of you and Jocelyn, if she's interested, in running it. How you divvied up the responsibilities would be up to the two of you, although I suspect Jocelyn's interests would lay towards furnishing the homes, providing wardrobes for the families, making certain holiday needs are met." She mulled it over further. "Which means you would be working hand-in-hand with the attorney we hire, vetting families, assisting with job placement, making sure the families are meeting long and short term goals. Xen and I would establish the foundation, locate and purchase the homes, and make certain any maintenance needs are addressed." She lifted her shoulders and dropped them. "With the Agency, we just don't have time to run the foundation as well."

"And the children? Who would care for them?" Melina questioned. Laura's brows knit together, it was a matter she and Remington hadn't even discussed. "Baby Steele, like Olivia, will be with Xen and I at the office until he or she begins preschool. As for Olivia…" She shook her head slowly "I guess we'll need to start looking into hiring a nanny." She groaned inwardly. How had they come to the point that they were one of 'those people' who needed a Nanny for their family to run efficiently?

"Olivia…" Melina let the name linger for a long second. "So, you do not intend for Sophie to remain here with you and Xen?"

"I don't know. We don't know," she answered, as a stab of guilt pricked at her. "With the Agency, Olivia, Baby Steele on the way. Would it be fair to anyone if we did?" Did she imagine the flash of disapproval in Melina's eyes? She wasn't sure.

"If you choose not to do so, I will take her. I will raise her," Melina volunteered. Laura stared at the younger woman, flabbergasted.

"You'd do that?" she asked, unable to keep the surprise from being heard in her voice. Melina gave a definitive, affirmative nod.

"I would. I, my family, spent a decade worrying about Xen. I will not do the same for Sophie," she explained. "I will love her as though she were my own, same as Mama and Papa did Xen."

"I…" Laura stumbled. "I don't know what to say." Melina waved her off with a flick of her hand.

"Tell me more about this foundation…"

* * *

Remington and the girls returned forty-five minutes before his Father and Catherine were due to arrive. In year's past, it had been tradition for the Steele's to meet the Marquess and Marchioness at the airport upon their arrival. However, even the limo, which sat five comfortably, would be a stretch with a very pregnant Laura and now Sophie in tow as well. As such, Fred had been dispatched to LAX on his own, while Laura and Remington waited in the Holmby Hills home.

"Mommy," Olivia ran into the living room excitedly, when they'd returned home, Sophie close on her heels, "Sophie and me got Balentines!"

"Sophie and I got Valentines," Laura gently corrected, emphasizing the 'v' once again. "Did you pick them out yourselves?"

"We did! Da said we could get whatever we wanted!" Olivia answered.

"And, quite an ordeal it turned out to be," Remington added, with a lifted brow and half smile. "Who knew there would be some many types from which to pick? It's preposterous." Laura laughed in answer.

"I think that speaks more to how often you'll deign to shop in a discount store, than it does as a reflection on the retail sector of America," she teased, the returned her attention to the girls. "So, let me see. What did you finally settle on?"

"I got Snow White," Olivia offered, pulling the thing cardboard box from her bag and shoving it at Laura, "'Cuz she and I got the same color hair."

"She and I _have_ the same color," Laura corrected automatically. "They're a very good choice, Livvie. You did well." Livvie smiled from ear-to-ear at the praise.

"And Da bought us lollipops to stick to them," she added, holding her bag open for Laura to peek inside.

"So he did, Laura confirmed, then turned to Sophie. "Soph, what about you?" A smile lighting both lips and eyes, Sophie pulled a box from her own bag and held it out. Laura's brows lifted in surprise, fully expecting Sleeping Beauty. "Kittens?"

"Mommy said she'd get me a kitty for my birthday," Sophie explained, voluntarily, surprising both adults.

"She did?" Sophie nodded vigorously. "What type of kitty did you want?"

"Like this," she turned over the box, and pointed to a raven colored, long-haired cat with eyes bordering on orange.

"That's a very pretty kitty," Laura complimented, as she lifted her eyes to Remington in question. Peering over Sophia's shoulder, he shrugged one shoulder, having no idea what breed the feline was. "You made an excellent choice with your Valentines, Sophie." The little girl beamed. "Alright, girls, take your Valentines up to your room and I'll be right up to get you dressed for Granddad and Grans arrival." Laura accepted Remington's proffered hand. He helped her to her feet, then watched as she ascended the stairs in the girls' wake.

By the time the doorbell chimed an hour later, the groceries were put away, Remington was putting the final touches on the lunch table and a lasagna was baking in the oven. Melina puttered about the kitchen, placing the salad in the refrigerator and turning her attention to the task of preparing the garlic bread for the oven. Two little girls sat on the floor, coloring, dressed in their Sunday best, their hair French braided and bows, matching their dresses, tying their hair at the end. Laura, descending the stairs with Melina, opened the door to welcome their guests.

"Granddad!" Olivia screeched, as she raced across the living room, then skittered across the entryway, throwing herself into Thomas arms as he knelt to greet her. Easily, the tall, lean man lifted her in his arms, exchanging hugs with her. If there was any man who owned the little girl's heart second to her father, it was her Granddad, with her Pappouli coming in a close third.

"You must have grown an inch since last I saw you, young lady," Thomas exclaimed. He and Catherine had departed a month before, after their stay for the holidays, in order to attend to business back in England. Olivia clasped Thomas's cheeks between her small hands.

"Sophie and I went Balentine shopping with Da this morning. Wanna see?" Thomas smiled down at his granddaughter.

"There is little I can think of that I'd enjoy more," he told her, seriously. "But first, perhaps, you should say your greeting to your grandmother, don't you think?" Olivia nodded enthusiastically than wriggled to be put down.

"Grans!" Olivia greeted just enthusiastically, throwing her arms around Catherine's neck when she squatted down, demurely. "Do _you_ wanna see my Balentines?" Catherine bussed the little girl on the cheek, then nodded.

"I should think that I do," she agreed.

"Wait right here and I'll go get them!" Olivia ordered, then turned and ran up the stairs.

"Father," Remington greeted, giving Thomas a hug. "Business matters all situated for the moment?"

"They are, they are," Thomas confirmed. "I imagine our presence won't be required back at home for six weeks or so, although it'll be nose to the grindstone when I return. Well worth the cost to spend some time with Olivia before the birth of my second grandchild, I must say." Taking Laura's hands in his, he bussed her on both cheeks. "Laura, you look lovely, as always. You must have—"

"Don't you dare tell me I've grown an inch since last you saw me," she teased.

"I wouldn't dare," he agreed, somberly, though humor twinkled in his eyes.

"Who have we here?" Catherine asked, her focus directed on Sophie, who stood wide-eyed in the doorway between the entry way and living room. "One of Olivia's little playmates?"

"Actually, no," Laura answered, drawing Sophie to her side. The little girl wrapped her arms around Laura's legs, and pressed her face into the side of them, shy and uncertain of the people who had just arrived. "Sophie, this is Olivia's grandmother and grandfather, come all the way from England to visit," she introduced the little girl, while giving Thomas and Catherine a look that clearly said _we'll explain later._

"Well, hello, Sophie," Thomas offered, bending over to take one of the girl's hands in his, and bussing the back of it. "It is a pleasure, indeed, to meet you." Sophie's eyes only widened further at the greeting.

Blessedly, Olivia charging back the stairs ended the awkwardness in the room. Carrying both her and Sophie's bags, she grabbed at her grandfather's hand, tugging at him.

"C'mon, Granddad. I'll show you." With a shrug of his shoulders, as though to say, _'What can I do_ ', he followed behind her, the other adults and Sophie following in his wake.

"So tell me, son, how have you and Laura come to be in care of little Sophie?" Thomas inquired, as he and Remington enjoyed a brandy after dinner was finished.

The afternoon had been passed enjoyably, with lunch followed by time sitting around the fire outdoors while Olivia and Sophie played on the playset in the rear yard. Thomas and Catherine had excused themselves in the late afternoon, to head to the Rossmore for a quick nap to help shake the jetlag then to prepare for dinner at the Club. Fred, as was tradition when Thomas and Catherine were in town, was on-call, fully at their disposal, happily collecting the overtime their visits always meant. The topic of Sophie had purposefully been avoided throughout the afternoon, and Catherine had, wisely, decided to forgo bestowing Olivia with the gifts she'd brought to shower upon their granddaughter.

Fondling his brandy snifter, Remington glanced at Laura, whose slight inclination of her head gave him her blessing to tell them the entirety of the story.

"My Lord," Catherine exclaimed, lifting a hand to lay at the base of her throat, "You mean to say that poor child not only witnessed her mother's murder, but that her own father may try to harm her as well? What is this world coming to?" Thomas lay a hand over Catherine's free one, giving it a gentle squeeze. While Catherine's own brother had turned out to be a serial killer, The Whitechapel Ripper, her sheltered upbringing still led her to see the world through rose colored glasses, and news such as this tended to make her very nervous.

"And what will happen to little Sophie, son, once you and Laura have managed to place this madman behind bars?" Thomas wondered, his eyes laying intently on his son and daughter-in-law.

"It's a question we've asked ourselves," Remington answered honestly, clasping Laura's hand in his and stroking the back of it with his thumb. "She is, of course, under our guardianship, for now, but as to her future, we'll have to sort that out once the threat has been eliminated."

"You mean to say you won't keep her?" Catherine ventured. Laura schooled her features, mentally wincing as, for the second time on the day, guilt assailed her.

"I wish it were as simple as all that," Remington replied. "We've already our hands full with the Agency, Olivia and our child due any day. Would we be doing all three children a disservice if we stretch ourselves too thin, can't give them each what they need?"

"And given your own childhood, can you make your peace with that?" the Duke inquired. Remington took a long draw on his brandy, then studied the snifter at length before answering.

"Laura and I certainly wouldn't toss her to the wolves, as was done to me," he finally answered. "We'd make certain that wherever she lands, she'd be in the hands of kind, loving people who wish for nothing more than a child to love."

"Thomas…" Catherine's hopeful eyes alighted on her husband.

"Not now, Catherine," Thomas cut her off. As far as he was concerned, there was no place for discussion for what Catherine had in mind until his son and daughter-in-law had made their decision. Catherine, who had been raised under the archaic notion that a woman is obedient to her husband, spoke no further of the matter.

Remington sat down his snifter and held out his hand to Laura.

"I believe I promised my lovely wife a dance this evening," he announced, effectively ending, abruptly, further discussion of Sophia's future. Seeing the strain about his eyes, Laura swallowed the comment she was about to make, and forced a smile upon her face.

"That you did," she agreed, standing, then with a nod at Catherine and Thomas, followed him to the dance floor.

"In case I haven't said it before, you look beautiful this evening, love," Remington murmured against her ear, as he embraced her on the dance floor. She tilted back her head and smiled at him, caressing his shoulder with a hand.

"You've made mention of it a time or two." And he had. She was wearing a red, empire waist, floor length gown that emphasized her rounded stomach and enlarged breasts. While she felt she resembled a whale someone had left to soak in Kool-Aid, she had a husband who truly appreciated her pregnant body, so had dressed for his pleasure. In her mind, if you can't please yourself, please someone else.

"What's say we make our excuses," he hummed, drawing the back of two fingers down the skin bared by the back of her dress.

"And your father?" she reminded him.

"I'm sure he'll be relieved. Jet lag, and all that," he bobbled his head from side-to-side. "Whereas his son, needs time alone with his wife." They were words that never failed to catch her attention. He was struggling, emotionally, and reaching out.

"Then let's make our excuses," she suggested. Closing his eyes, he bussed her on the forehead and nodded.

"Let's."


	30. Chapter 28: Expansion

_**A/N: This chapter contains NC-17 content. If you are uncomfortable with such content or under the age of 18, please continue to the next chapter.**_

Chapter 29: Expansion

Laura's palms were pressed against the edge of the bathroom counter, her head hanging down as she panted. Remington's arm encircled her beneath her breasts, lending support, his free hand plucking at, brushing over her nipples, kneading her breasts, as his hips pumped behind her. Her hands clutched at the counter, knuckles whitening, as the orgasm rolled over her.

"Remington," she breathed.

"Let it happen, mo ghrá, let it happen," he urged, pumping harder, faster, intensifying, prolonging her orgasm. He battled for control as he felt her muscles contracting around him, begging him to explode within her. But he wasn't ready yet. As soon as the last shudder passed through her body, he left her, then swept her up in his arms, carrying her to their bed, where he began the sweet assault on her body all over again.

"Remington. Wait… wait," she urged, grabbing his head in both hands and raising it from the breast he was currently lathing with attention. Confused blue eyes, landed on a face flushed red.

"What? What is it?" he asked, breathlessly. She scrunched her eyes closed, mortified.

"I need a towel, a tissue. Oh God," she mumbled, then forced the words past her lips, "I'm leaking." This hadn't happened during her pregnancy with Olivia, and she had been utterly unprepared for it now, although she had heard it could happen. His brows furrowed, trying to understand what she meant, then his eyes dropped down to her chest, where he saw a minute stream of fluid puddling between her breasts. Curious, he drew the tip of his tongue through it. "Oh God, don't."

"Why not?" he asked with a tilt of his head. She covered her face with her hands and refused to answer. "Lau-ra," he drew out her name.

"It's embarrassing," she mumbled.

"To the contrary, it's not only wholly natural," he drew his tongue through the liquid again, "But sweet, like the rest of you." She dropped her hands to the bed.

"Is there anything that doesn't turn you off?" she groused. He lifted his head, then shifted upwards and leaned his head down until their eyes met. His fingers toyed with her dampened hair.

"When it comes to you?" He shook his head, then began scattering kisses along her foreheads, eyes. "Not a thing," he breathed, then claimed her lips with his. When she remained stiff beneath his lips, his touch, he sighed, then pressed back upwards on his elbow to look down at her. "Lau-ra," he elongated her name, as a hand reached for her breast. "Your breasts are a source of endless delight to me. To know they will also be responsible for nourishing our child? How could I be less than captivated, hmmm?" He lay a string of kisses down her neck, a thumb stroking her puckered peak simultaneously. "You wouldn't wish to deprive me of these little beauties would you?" He took a peak between his teeth and teased it with his tongue. In spite of herself, she arched into his touch and a hand buried itself in his hair. "Especially when there will be so much less to enjoy all too soon," he teased. She snorted and slapped his shoulder. His tongue circled the other nipple, making him hum. "So sweet."

With a sigh, she gave up, concentrating on his touch, the feel of his lips against her skin, her breast in his mouth. In no time at all, she forgot her momentary embarrassment, as he used all his wiles to push her upwards again. Soon, she was clutching at him, arching against his touch, squirming beneath it, drawing self-satisfied chuckles from him. He brought her to climax again as he lapped at the sensitive bundle of nerves between her legs, and two fingers moved rhythmically within her, then again, with her back pressed to his chest, her leg thrown over his hip as his body filled hers. Only then did he allow himself to find his bliss, exploding within her depths, his body shuddering, as he drew the skin of her shoulder into his mouth, mumbling her name around it. For long minutes afterwards, he remained inside of her, keeping her body pressed tight to his while lips and tongue wandered along her skin. When he finally shifted, slipping free of her, she turned to her back and drew his head down to rest on her breasts.

"What going on in that head of yours, Remington?" she asked quietly, stroking his back with one hand, caressing his cheek with another.

"I don't know… I don't know," he admitted, laying a hand on her stomach, searching for the form of their child within.

"Is it Castoro?" She thought they'd put that to bed the night before. His hand stalled for a long second before moving over her stomach again.

"No… Yes…" he stumbled. "Of a sort, I suppose." He blew out a long breath, and fell silent.

"Talk to me, sweetheart," she softly encouraged, raking her fingers through his hair.

"It wasn't difficult at all," he finally spoke.

"What wasn't?" she asked, plucking at strands of his hair.

"The girls. Having them both with me this morning… It was… enjoyable even." He chuckled lightly. "Sophie is quite the magpie when excited, if you can believe that." She tilted her head, her brows furrowing slightly.

"That's a good thing, isn't it?" He nodded his head against her breasts.

"It is. It is." Silence lingered again. She caressed his cheek.

"Remington," she nudged. He sighed and shifted his hand as the baby moved.

"It brought to memory those first days with Marcos and Elena. Alone, terrified… of men in particular." He chuckled low in his throat. "Not that I'd admit to any such thing." He grew quiet, sought the words. "Christos. He was my… lifeline… of a sort. In a snap, we were bound at the hip, and I didn't feel quite so… alone… afraid." She fingered his hair back behind his ear.

"Go on."

"Sophie. It's that way for her with our Livvie." Laura closed her eyes and nodded her head.

"I agree," she answered simply, quietly.

"After I… left… as difficult as it had been to leave Marcos, Elena, Zeth, Lina… it was that bond… Christos… that I most," he shook his head, "mourned. The loneliness at times was nearly unbearable, came close to breaking me a time or two." He blew out a long sigh. "It wasn't difficult this morning. I… enjoyed it." Her fingers stilled.

"What are you saying, Remington?" Leaving her, he lay on his back, and scrubbed his palms against his face.

"I've no right to ask," he answered. Awkwardly sitting up, Laura reached for the shirt lying in wait for her at the end of the bed, slipping it on. She slipped two buttons through their corresponding holes, as she turned to face him.

"You want us to keep Sophie," she concluded. Dropping his hands, she saw the strain around his eyes even as he nodded. "Because you feel you'd be dishonoring those who did the same for you?" He shook his head slowly.

"I won't deny that's perhaps a part of it," he replied, slowly. "But more so, _she's a child_ , Laura. The idea that I would be the one to make her feel as I did after…" he shook his head again.

"Would you be able to live with yourself if we didn't?" she had to ask. He rubbed a hand over his mouth and held it there for long seconds before answering.

"I don't know," he answered, honestly. "I don't know." He lifted his eyes to meet hers, then rolled to his side, and propped his head in hand, while she stretched out on her side to face him. "More importantly, would it be fair to you for me to even suggest that we do so?" He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, even as she frowned.

"Fair to me in what way?"

"To begin with: Will there come a day when Sophia is a constant reminder of how I once injured you?" He traced the curve of her cheek with a pair of fingers, his blue eyes focused on her, intently. "I won't risk hurting you, _or us_ , no matter how my conscience tugs at me." She pursed her lips thoughtfully, then gave a one shouldered shrug.

"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't wondered the same," she confessed. "But all I see when I look at Sophie is a beautiful, scared little girl who lost her mother in an unimaginable way." She captured his hand in hers, and drew it down to press her lips to his palm. "You said to begin with…"

"I did," he concurred, reclaiming his hand to caress her rounded stomach. "You and I, we had an agreement, unspoken though it might have been. Two children, Olivia and our wee one here," he stroked her belly for emphasis. "It took a great deal of faith on your part to believe we could have a second child without it comprising all the other parts of you. But I have to wonder if there might come a time when you feel you've been made to sacrifice any part of yourself should we take on a third."

"I'd like to think that together we'd find the right balance, as we did after Olivia was born. It would take commitment, probably quite a bit of creativity—" He swiped his hand through his hair, as he interrupted her.

"Laura, are you saying you're willing to take her on?" She rolled to her back and let out a slow breath, then turned her head to look at him.

"I know I've never known us to fail when something matters to us. And I've found myself wondering how we'd be any different than all those families that failed to do right by you if we turned her away." Her fingers stroked the base of her throat. "Most of all, I know I'm not willing to put you in a position where you have to find a way to live with yourself if we don't do this."

"If we do this, we have to do it for the right reasons, not because my conscience might plague me," he warned. "If there's anything worse than being unwanted, it's knowing you are nothing more than an obligation."

"It wouldn't be like that," she answered, rolling to her side again. "You _know_ that." He nodded his head rapidly, the stress easing around his eyes. She shook he head and gave him a rueful smile. "And I thought getting the nursery and Olivia's new room ready before the baby arrived was a daunting thought…" He tilted his head and gave her a perplexed look.

"Care to enlighten me?" She snuggled more comfortably down in her pillow.

"To start with, Melina is staying in LA and has accepted our proposal for the foundation, which means it's time to start interviewing nannies, Mr. Steele. We can hardly have three children at the Agency every day."

"Well, that doesn't seem all that daunting," he dismissed. "A few well-placed calls—"

"And as much as I love our home, if we do this, we've officially outgrown it," she announced.

"Laura, the house? We can just convert—"

"We'll need more room," she headed him off at the pass. "Even if we converted the studio into a bedroom, there's the matter of one bathroom for four people to share. Then there's the fact that we're lacking playroom for the children, and I can't imagine our living room serving as double duty for the next decade." She looked up at him, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Of course, we could always convert your movie room into a playroom," she drawled.

"That suggestion borders on sacrilege," he declared, fervently, drawing a laugh from her. "So, a new home." She nodded her head.

"At least five bedrooms," she began to tick off, "Three baths, room for our studio, your movie room, a playroom, a home office, a kitchen that suits your needs, a dining room for the holidays, room for my piano, a pool for the kids and I, outdoor space for the kids to play, and a three-car garage… at least."

"Is that all?" he asked, drily.

"Actually, no. Fireplaces in the living room and master bedroom, are a must," she lifted her brows at him, "For obvious reasons. High ceilings, plenty of windows. The nursery near the master bedroom, and a room for Melina that is removed enough from the children that she has some semblance of privacy as long as she stays with us. If we opt for a live-in nanny, then we'll need private quarters for her as well. The girls' rooms should be large enough to fit two twin beds in each, with plenty of room left to move around, as I imagine, for now at least, they'll choose to sleep together. We'll also need a place for our hammocks, and a space to entertain out of doors. And I'd prefer the house be within twenty minutes of work and the girl's school, for obvious reasons."

"And I imagine you came up with all this off the cuff, hmmm?" he mused.

"No," she admitted, drawing out the word. "I think you and I have both known since we signed those guardianship papers, at least on some level, that we wouldn't send Sophie on her way when this is over." She reached for his hand again, tangling their fingers together. "And after what Melina said this afternoon…" her words trailed off on a yawn.

"Oh, and what exactly did Lina say?" he asked, curious, as he settled more comfortably on the bed.

"Before or after she volunteered to raise Sophie herself, if we weren't going to do so?" His brows raised in surprise.

" _Lina_ said that?" She nodded, yawning again while drawing their joined hands up to lay between them.

"She did."

"And what more did she say?"

"That she couldn't spend the next decade worrying about what happened to Sophie as your family did about you when you left." He shook his head at the comment.

"It was never my intent to do that to them," he commented, regretfully. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

"I know, and so do they," she assured him. "What Lina said made me realize, we'd both spend the rest of our lives wondering what became of Sophie if we didn't make her part of our family. And Livvie? I think she'd be crushed if Sophie went elsewhere, even to Lina or your father and Catherine." His lips lifted in a grin.

"Caught that, did you?" She gave him a roll of her eyes in answer. "I suppose we should make an announcement tomorrow at lunch, to put everyone's minds at ease, hmmmm?"

"Of our intent, at least." She let out a sigh. "We still have to make sure the Court doesn't give Castoro custody, or this entire discussion is a moot point," she reminded him.

"Which may happen once the paternity test returns showing he's her father," Remington mulled aloud. She flashed him a self-satisfied look.

"Unfortunately for Castoro, those results are going to be… delayed." His eyes narrowed on her suspiciously.

"Inside information?"

"I guess you could say that. Milton's lab is responsible for processing all paternity tests ordered by the Courts in Southern California." A corner of his lips lifted in a smile.

"Which is why you had lunch with him yesterday," he concluded.

"It is," she confirmed. "He won't change the test results, but he'll muddy the waters to buy us a couple extra weeks." With effort, she rolled to her back then shifted to lay on her other side. He followed, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"Weeks. I want this over now, and this bugger behind bars where he belongs."

"Then maybe it's time to put his feet to the fire," she muttered sleepily.

"What do you have in mind?... Laura?" Easing up, he looked down on her and chuckled quietly.

Whatever she had in mind would have to wait, for she was fast asleep.


	31. Chapter 30: Trial by Fire

Chapter 30: Trial by Fire

"Are you sure you're really ready for that, Laura?" Frances inquired. "I mean, don't get me wrong, you such a good mother to Olivia, but, trust me, it's so much more complicated when you have three. And with a newborn?" Remington squeezed Laura's hand as he felt her tension mounting.

The two sisters, once estranged, had grown much closer in the five and a half years since the Piper family had moved to Los Angeles. However, while not even approaching the level of Abigail's criticism, Frances had a habit of doubting what her little sister was capable of when she put her mind to it. Frances, while overjoyed, had been quite vocal in both her concern and advice when Laura and Remington had announced they were expecting their second child. But a third? Laura knew if she showed even the slightest indecision, the slightest worry about what they were about to undertake, Frances would play mother hen until the end of time.

"Is anyone ever truly ready, Frances?" Laura posed the question calmly. "Sophie is a sweet, well-behaved little girl. If anything, I think having her here is going to improve our lives, not complicate them."

"But with the new baby about to arrive—"

"I suspect Sophie will help keep Livvie occupied," Laura interrupted, cutting off that argument.

"Frannie, Frannie, Laura will be fine," Donald assured his wife, patting her hand. "After all, we survived, didn't we? Danny will be leaving for college in the Fall, Mindy the year following – all whole and none the worse for wear."

"But I stayed at home with the children, Donald," Frances protested. "Laura has her job and –"

"A nursery at the Agency waiting for our little one when he or she arrives and more people willing to lend a hand than we can count, should we need them," Remington stepped in to add.

"And you can count us among them," Donald offered. "Can't they, Frannie?"

"Don't be silly, Donald. Of course, they can! I'm sure Mindy would be willing to babysit any time they need, and we can take the girls off their hands if they want to spend some time alone with the baby," Frances confirmed, before her lower lip began to tremble and tears threatened again. "I still can't understand how someone could do what those monsters did to that woman in front of her own child!"

Laura and Remington hadn't shared the whole of the story with Donald and Frances, and Thomas and Catherine wisely kept their counsel. The only purpose Frances being told the Deputy Chief of LAPD was behind it all would serve was to push her straight into hysterics. Thus, as far as she and Donald were aware, Sophie was a former client's child, entrusted into their care, and the perpetrators of the assault on Clarissa were unknown.

"I should check on the food," Remington announced, standing. He'd put the grill on low, and had lines of lamb shish kabobs cooking for the adults, and the time had arrived for him to add the hotdogs for the little ones.

"Allow me to lend you a hand, son," Thomas offered, standing as well, his father's way, Remington knew, of arranging a discrete conversation. After offering Laura a helping hand to her feet, he walked with his father towards the outdoor kitchen.

"Girls!" Laura called, toward the backyard. "Let's go inside and wash up for lunch."

"I wanna play!" Livvie balked, even as Sophie obediently picked up her doll and walked towards the adults.

"You can play some more after lunch," Laura called back.

"But I'm not hungry," the little girl whined in answer.

"Olivia Elena…" Laura warned in her best Mommy voice, to which Olivia could been seen across the yard inching her chin up stubbornly, preparing to argue further. "Or, I'm beginning to believe you may be in need of a nap." Olivia remained stock still for several ticks of the clock, then, sticking out her lip in her best pout, stomped towards her mother.

Remington watched the scene as it played out, only turning his attention to the food when Olivia reluctantly obeyed, as Thomas laughed low in his throat beside him.

"Olivia certainly knows her own mind, even at such a young age," Thomas observed.

"Mmmmm. She certainly resembles her mother in that regard," Remington mused. "'Truthfully, I'm often torn between being grateful, as no one will ever convince her to do something contrary to her will, or to ruing the upcoming years when she turns that persistence on us more and more." He raised his brows at his father. "And I can't say I'm looking forward, at all, to the countless years ahead of me that Laura will devote to reminding me that she'd tried to warn me."

"Warn you of what, exactly?" his father asked.

"That I failed to heed her admonitions that I just might get what I ask for," Remington smiled. "I suppose there may come a time that I regret not qualifying all but Laura's temper and tendency to plant her feet regularly, but in truth, right now I quite enjoy seeing a glimpse of what Laura may have been like at Livvie's age."

"That tenacity seems to have borne Laura well," Thomas observed.

"Ah, but it wasn't you butting your head up against that tenacity for nearly four years as you tried to win her over," Remington laughed, his father joining in. As he removed the kabobs from the grill and plattered them, his eyes flickered towards the older man, then back to the work at hand. "I know Catherine was interested in adopting Sophie…" he led in.

"Ah, yes," Thomas nodded. "A fleeting notion, I assure you. As I reminded her last evening, we're well beyond the child-rearing years, myself more so than she. She'll be quite content with another granddaughter and the new baby to dote over."

"Yes, well, I simply hope Catherine understands neither Laura nor I meant to give her false hope," his eyes fell on his stepmother, who'd remained at the table conversing with Frances and Donald, "We were simply coming to terms with what we'd both known all along." Thomas stepped to Remington and lay a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm proud of you, son," his father praised. Remington's hand stilled and he swallowed hard. Words he'd once believed he'd never hear, directed towards him, by a father… his father. Words he might have questioned if he'd truly earned no so long ago. He turned and gave his father an impulsive hug, then returned to clearing off the grill.

"Thank you," he acknowledged, "But I assure you it is Laura who deserves the bulk of the credit. None of this would have been possible without her."

"She's a good woman," Thomas acknowledged. A smile lifted Remington lips, as he scanned the veranda for her, to find she'd still not returned.

"Yes. That she is," he agreed.

Inside the house, Laura was searching for patience. Sophie's face and hands were washed without a smidgen of difficulty, but the same couldn't be said for her suddenly petulant daughter.

"Ow! It's hot, Mommy!" she cried out, dancing away from the sink. Placing her own hand under the running water, Laura rolled her eyes.

"It's barely warm, Livvie," she corrected, running the wash cloth under the water. "Now let's get your face and hands clean so—" She stopped speaking then, dropping the wash cloth, lay her palm against Olivia's forehead. Turning off the faucets, she took the little girl's hand in hers. "Okay, Livvie Bee. You've won a temporary reprieve. Let's go upstairs to my room girls."

Upstairs in the master bedroom, Laura had the girls wait for her on the bed while she retrieved the thermometer from her bathroom. A few months back, during one of the traditional Saturday morning rounds of errands, Remington had arrived home with the newest thermometer on the market: a thermometer that was placed in the individual's ear and would provide a reading within seconds. Quickly scanning the directions, Laura returned to the bedroom and within seconds had confirmed her suspicions. A fever, one hundred two point seven. Setting the thermometer aside, she studied Olivia briefly, now recognizing the too bright but glazed eyes and the slight pallor to her daughter's skin that hadn't registered before.

"Livvie, how do you feel?" she inquired, smoothing a hand over her daughter's hair.

"My tummy hurts," was the forlorn reply from the little voice. Laura nodded her head.

"Alright, let's get you something to help you feel a little better. What do you say?" Turning her focus to Sophie, she asked, "Sophie, do you think you might be able to go downstairs and ask Olivia's father to come upstairs?"

"Yes," was the quiet, solemn reply.

"Thank you, sweetie," Laura smiled at the little girl, then watched as she left the room.

While Laura gave Olivia a dose a Motrin then took her to the girls' room where she stripped her daughter down, redressing her in a lightweight summer nightgown, Sophie made her way downstairs and outside. The food was already laid out on the dining table, the meal awaiting Laura and the girls' arrival. Approaching Remington, Sophie tugged at his sleeve.

"Ah, the first of my girls have arrived," Remington remarked jovially, "We may yet eat should the other two do the same," he announced jokingly to the rest of the table, to be met by another tug at his sleeve. He turned his attention fully to Sophie's solemn face. "Have something on your mind, do you, a thaisce?" he inquired, picking her up and placing her on his lap.

"Livvie's sick," she told him with widened eyes, whether due to the surprise of a man sitting with her in such a manner or because of worry over her friend. Whatever its origin, it firmly caught Remington's attention and he stood, easily shifting the little girl to his hip. "If you'll excuse me," he addressed their guests, "I need to go check on Olivia." Frances was already dropping her napkin on the table and standing as well.

"I'll come with you," she announced.

"Please, eat. We'll be back shortly," Remington encouraged the other guests.

The trio had just approached the stairs in the entryway when the doorbell peeled, earning a queer look from Remington as they were expecting no further company on the day. Turning around, he reached for the doorknob and swung the door open, then merely blinked in reaction to the person he found standing on the other side. That cool, unflappable reaction couldn't be attributed to Sophie, who immediately began to shake, while clutching her hands, almost painfully, into his back while burying her face in his shoulder. Witnessing this, Frances wide eyes darted back and forth between brother-in-law and the child.

"Deputy Chief Castoro, what can I do for you?" Remington inquired in an unflinching voice. Behind him, Frances drew in a quick breath.

"Remington," she stepped in, "I'll just take Sophie upstairs to Laura so the two of you can speak."

"I'd appreciate that," he answered, handing off Sophie who went quite willingly to Frances, burying her face in Frances's shoulder as well. "If you'll let Laura know I'll be right up."

"Actually," Castoro stepped further in, reaching out a hand to grasp Sophie's arm before Frances could move away, "I was hoping you might allow me to spend a little time with my daughter. It's been a little more than a week since…" he appeared flustered "…well since… Clarissa…" the man frowned as Frances removed his hand from Sophie's arm "…and I miss spending time with her." Remington took a subtle step, placing him between Castoro and the child.

"Frances, go ahead," Remington nodded towards the stairs. Frances leveled an openly hostile look on the man before moving away. Remington watched until they were three-quarters of the way up the stairs, then returned his attention to the man in front of him. "I don't think that would be wise, at the moment," he dissented. "As you are aware, given the papers you had served upon us, Clarissa has charged us with safekeeping the child, and she doesn't appear overly eager to spend time alone with you." He smiled to soften the words, although his eyes were cold as ice. Anger flashed across the other man's face, but was quickly concealed.

"As her father, I have every right—"

"A status that has yet to be determined by the Court," Remington interrupted. "Given Clarissa's… profession… one could argue I'm as likely to be Sophie's father as yourself. In fact, she stated as much to Detective Jarvis."

"Clarissa chose to leave the… profession… for me, for us. We've been together the last four years," he replied, feigning grief. "I loved Clarissa, and her loss has been devastating. But I can promise you, Sophie is my child, and she needs me now, more than ever." He was good, Remington had to give him that, and if not for what he and Laura already knew, he would have been quite convincing.

"If you and Clarissa were as close as you say, then you're aware I'm the man who left her at the altar." Utter fury was reflected in the man's eyes before he turned away and gathered himself.

"No, I wasn't," he replied with surprising honestly, before his attention was caught by movement above stairs. Remington turned and found Laura standing on the landing, preparing to come down. He held up a cautionary hand to her and although her lips tightened with frustration, she stopped her descent.

"Then I'm sure you can understand my concerns," Remington commented, drawing Castoro's attention back to him.

"Actually, no, I can't," Castoro returned. "Clarissa and I had been seeing each other exclusively for weeks when she became pregnant, and she has been faithful to me since. I'm aware of your reputation, Mr. Steele. You're an intelligent man, one I am sure understands the biology of the matter. Based on when Sophie was born, you'd been out of the picture for weeks by the time she was conceived."

"Is that right?" Remington challenged. "Sophie was overdue, was she not? In fact, in March of eighty-seven, when I met up with Clarissa at the obstetrician's, the doctor was planning to induce if she didn't deliver in the next few days, for that very reason."

"By a week, not several," Castoro dismissed, no longer even attempting to his irritation now. "I can assure you, I have not a single doubt Sophie is my child."

"You have proof then?" Remington pressed, pausing to give Thomas, who'd just arrived in search of him a look that said 'Stay, but do not speak.'. "A birth certificate with your name upon it? Proof of support paid since the child's birth? A paternity test?"

"No, but I have something far more important. I've been a part of Sophie's life since the day she was born. If I didn't know she was my child, would I have been?" Remington scratched at his chin.

"Part of Clarissa's life, perhaps," Remington modified the claim. "But, by Clarissa's own words to me, you never acknowledged the child as yours, in fact, claimed quite the opposite. So, I'm sure you understand given no proof of parentage as well as Clarissa's claims to me, that I must insist until the Court determines you've a vested right in seeing the child, it is my obligation to act in Sophie's best interests and minimize disruptions in her life… especially as she is grieving the loss of her mother. As Sophie has expressed no interest in seeing you, I'll be honoring her wishes. And if she is your child, as you claim, then I'm sure you'll appreciate that my wife and I are merely doing what we can to ease the child's upset at a time like this."

"Mr. Steele, be reasonable—" Castoro began to try again.

"I believe I am," Remington broke in. "Now, if you don't mind, we've a child that is under the weather and guests waiting on us out back." The clear invitation that he take his leave incited Castoro's temper.

"Do you have any idea who I am, Steele?" he demanded to know. "I can make life for you, your Agency, very difficult if I choose." Remington's own formidable temper flared at the clear threat, though he retained the appearance of icy cool composure for which he was known.

"I've every confidence the reputation we've built across the years will sustain us, should you attempt to do so." He took a step closer to the man. "And I am sure, given the time you've spent with the LAPD, you'll understand the import of what I'm about to say: You are not welcome on our property. Should you make another visit, announced or otherwise, I'll have you arrested for trespass." He held out his arm towards the door. "Now, as I said, I've a sick child and company to attend to. Good day, Castoro." Castoro, face beet red with ire, remained resolutely where he stood. "Of course, I could make that call now. I can see the headlines in the morning already: "Deputy Chief Forcibly Removed from the Premises of Famed Detective, Remington Steele." The man bared his teeth, but stepped towards the door.

"You'll be sorry for this, Steele," he warned, only to find the door slammed, with a resounding thud, in his face.

Inside, Remington let out a long breath and drug a hand through his hair, as Thomas regarded him.

"Are you alright, son?" he inquired. Remington held up a hand.

"Fine, fine," Remington assured him. "Would you mind seeing to our guests and the meal while I check in on Olivia?"

"Not at all," Thomas agreed, then watched as Remington alighted the stairs to join Laura, before returning to those waiting on the veranda.

"Are you okay?" Laura asked, laying a hand on his arm when he joined her on the stairs.

"Fine, fine," he repeated the answer he'd given Thomas shortly before. "If there's an argument to be had, can it wait until after our company leaves?"

"Alright," she agreed, drawing out the word while eyeing him

"Sophie said Olivia's ill?" he questioned, gratefully moving on.

"A fever," Laura confirmed, "Just under one hundred three, and a stomach ache. I thought an afternoon in her father's screening room, getting her fill of Disney movies, might be in order." He nodded his agreement as they stepped into the girls' room together.

"Ah, mo stor," he crooned, as he sat down on the edge of Olivia's bed where she lay, and caressed her cheek, "Mommy says you're feeling a bit under the weather, hmmmm?"

"My tummy hurts," she confirmed, plaintively. He hummed in answer.

"Perhaps an afternoon in my movie room might be just the thing, do you think?" he suggested. She nodded her head slowly.

"I want Mommy," she thought to add. This came as no surprise, as Olivia always insisted on Laura being close at hand when she didn't feel well.

"And I'm sure Mommy will be more than happy to stay with you," he comforted. "But how about if Da carries you downstairs and helps Mommy get you settled, hmmm?" Easily scooping her up before she could answer, he waited while Laura picked up her pillow from her bed, then followed behind, with Frances and Sophie taking up the rear. "We should call the doctor," this to Laura.

"I already have. His service paged him, I'm just waiting for him to call back." She lifted the portable phone held in hand to emphasize.

Once Olivia was settled on the couch, her head nestled on a pillow laying against Laura's thigh and Olivia's movie of choice, _Oliver & Company_, was playing on his large screen TV, Remington escorted Sophie outside to where all but Frances had been enjoying their meal while conversing. He assisted Sophie into a chair tucked between Catherine and Melina.

"How is Olivia, Remington?" Catherine inquired.

"Ah, bit of a fever and stomach ache," he provided. "She's laying down inside watching a movie with Laura. Once I've settled Sophie with her lunch, I'll bring Laura her lunch and Olivia a few provisions."

"Then by all means, get on with it. Sophie will be just fine with her Thea and Grans, won't you darling?" A shy smile lit Sophie's face and she nodded her agreement.

"If you're sure…"

Gratefully, he quickly made up a plate of food for Laura, then went inside to retrieve a glass of 7-up and the prerequisite bucket for any emergencies that might arise. In the kitchen he found Frances rustling through the cabinets.

"Laura asked if I wouldn't mind making Olivia some Jell-o," Frances explained. Reaching for a can of 7-up he kept on hand for occasions such as this he made a face in the cabinets. Laura well knew he didn't keep Jell-o in the house as a matter of course so why… _Ah._

"Fresh out, I'm afraid. I'll take a trip 'round to the market a bit later." Placing two ice cubes in a glass, he poured the clear, bubbly liquid over them.

"But it takes hours to set. I'll just run out and pick some up," she volunteered. "We can't have our LIvvie wanting her Jell-o only to find it's not ready."

"Really, Frances, that's not necessary. I'll just—"

"Nonsense. My sister asked me to make Olivia some Jell-o, so I'm going to make some Jell-o," she told him adamantly. "It always made the children feel so much better when they were little. Oh, I do miss having children Olivia's age around the house. In fact, I think I may just sit Donald down and tell him now that the children are older and preparing to leave the nest, I'd like to adopt or maybe foster," she began to prattle. "I'll admit, I had my doubts about you and Laura taking in Sophie, but that man, her father? Why I just wanted to… to… to scratch his eyes out, that's what I wanted to do! That poor little girl—"

"Frances, the Jell-o?" he reminded her in desperation. She waved her hand at him.

"Oh, my, I nearly forgot already. Let me just go get my purse and I'll be on my way!" She hustled from the room. Remington followed behind shortly- food, drinks for mother and daughter, and bucket in hand - passing the front door just as it clicked shut. Stepping into his screening room, he greeted Laura with a raised brow.

"You're a devious woman, Mrs. Steele," he admonished, teasingly.

"Self defense, Mr. Steele," she countered. "She was listing every illness that could possibly be linked to fever and stomach ache and by the time she reached appendicitis…" she tossed up her hands and sighed loudly. She looked at him with a bit of contrition. "I _honestly_ forgot you don't keep Jell-o in the house." She perked up as he handed her the plate of food he'd brought her.

"Of course, you did," he answered in a way that made it clear he didn't believe her. Her back straightened and she prepared to argue, but let it go when her stomach rumbled. "This looks wonderful. Thank you."

He was about to respond when the phone rang. Picking up the handset from the arm of the couch, she punched the button to answer it while he sat down on the edge of the coffee table to listen in.

"Hello?... This is she… I'm sorry to bother you on a Sunday doctor, but Olivia's not feeling well." She rattled off the short list of symptoms. "Yes… Yes, I have… No, not as yet... Okay… I understand… Thank you." She disconnected and met Remington's questioning gaze. "A stomach bug is going around. If she starts complaining about tenderness in the abdomen take her to the ER, otherwise, treat the fever, keep her hydrated, and make sure she gets plenty of rest," she recited while stroking their daughter's head. Lips pursed, he nodded. "it could be a long night, Mr. Steele," she forewarned.

"Then it's a good thing we're so practiced," he traced her cheek and jaw with a single finger, "At… long… nights… isn't it?" She gave him a dimpled smile and laughed softly. "I'll see to our company, then will join you."

* * *

A long night was an understatement. Three short hours later, Olivia could no longer keep anything down and by the time the hour hand struck midnight, Sophie had joined in the fray. At three a.m., Remington had made yet another successful scoop and run with Sophie. Stretching out next to the little girl on the master bed, he lay another cool compress on her head and gave an equally exhausted Laura a rueful grimace.

"Trial by fire, eh?" She snorted softly tossed her head.

"Two of them, two of us," she commented, drily, then silently laughed again.

"And we're doing a fine job, if I do say so myself." She closed her eyes and leaned her head against headboard. She was silent long enough that he began to doze.

"Remington, there's going to be three of them soon." Never opening his eyes, he settled in a little more comfortably, and smiled contentedly.

"There will," he answered.

"Think about it, Remington. Think about it."

"Mmm hmmm," he answered, as he happily gave in to sleep.

Only for his eyes to blink open a minute later. She'd been watching for his reaction once the realization hit and the battle against sleep had been worth it.

"Oh God," he mumbled, pressing a hand to his mouth. "You're a cruel woman, Mrs. Steele, a cruel… cruel… woman." She laughed quietly and closed her eyes again.

"You know what they say… It's a dirty job…" Her eyes popped open again, quickly identifying the feeling beneath her fingers. "Remington… Olivia." He didn't hesitate when he heard the tone. With a groan, he vaulted from the bed and swept up his daughter, for another race against the clock.


	32. Chapter 31: Blindsided

Chapter 31: Blindsided

Laura and Remington strode into the Agency on Monday morning looking every bit of the confident, competent professionals they were. Thanks in large part to the on-the-job-training they'd had at pulling all-nighters during the three months Olivia had suffered, and they along with her, from colic.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hawke," he greeted Bernice with a couple of hand slaps against her desk. She loathed the action, he knew it, and therefore had become tradition. "Please let the staff know our morning meeting will begin in ten minutes," he instructed then continued, without breaking stride, to his office.

"What's wrong with _him_?" Bernice asked, eyes narrowing. Laura glanced from Bernice towards the door to Remington's office then back to Bernice again.

"He seems fine to me," Laura shrugged, then returned her attention to the message slips in her hand.

"You two fighting?" Laura looked up at her again, confused.

"Huh?" She looked towards the door again. "No. At least not yet, but it's early," she grinned before focusing on the papers again.

"Then what's his problem? A case?" Bernice persisted. Laura gave her a queer look.

"Alright, Bernice, I give," she threw up her hands, " _Why_ are you so sure something's going on with him?"

"He called me Hawke."

"So?" Laura drew out the word.

"He _never_ calls me Hawke!" Bernice reminded her.

Laughing, Laura walked into Remington's office, then closed the door behind her. She found him sitting in his desk chair, feet propped on the edge of the desk, clasped hands resting against his stomach and his eyes closed.

"Are you _sure_ you're up to covering for me today?" she wondered aloud. He flicked a lazy hand at her, never opening his eyes as she walked into their small, private breakroom where the coffee stood waiting, already brewed.

"I'll be fine. I've no pressing appointments today. I'll merely double up on the Finegold stores tomorrow. In the meantime, I can stay here, work on finding properties for this project of ours, and maybe even do a little research into our own property needs."

"While keeping up with the case files, right?" she verified, as she poured them each a cup.

"With a dedication surpassed only by your own." Setting the cups down on his desk, she studied him at length.

"Maybe I should —"

"Livvie will never stand for it," he reminded her. "It was only by virtue of our solemn vow you'd return shortly that we were permitted out the door."

"I know, but—" He released a frustrated sigh, and opened his eyes. Reaching for her hand and dropping his feet from the corner of the desk, he tugged her down into his lap.

"In but a few short weeks, we'll once again be stumbling about from lack of sleep daily." His hand sought out her stomach, as if to emphasize the point. "Today is merely a dress rehearsal for opening day. Besides, there was a time when I'd partake of the nightlife until dawn and still pull of the most daring of capers with ease." She lay her head against his shoulder.

"Yes, but you were young then," she smirked, unseen.

"A strike at my vanity it's to be today then, hmmm?" he asked with a bemused grin. They both looked up at the knock on his office door. "And the day begins," he commented, helping her to her feet, then standing as well. "Come in," he called, as he assisted Laura up to perch on the corner of his desk, as was her preference.

The staff trickled in, holding casual conversation about their weekends. When Mildred arrived, closing the door behind her, Laura held up her hands and cleared her throat.

"Alright, everyone. Mr. Steele and I have two sick children waiting on me at home, so let's get this meeting underway." The room fell silent at her request. "Mildred, Marvin, BB, where are we at?"

"Go ahead, kid," Mildred told Marvin. "You found it, you deserve to share it." Marvin smiled wide and nervously pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"This weekend I took home the court filings and transcripts from Castoro's divorce, as well as the tax returns you'd asked Mildred to see," he began. "I wasn't trying to step your toes, it's just that I'd come across something in Mr. and Mrs. Castoro's - that's the second Mrs. Castoro - eighty-nine tax returns and wanted to see if there was any reference to it in the divorce proceedings or prior returns."

"Cut to the chase, Marvin," Mildred ordered.

"Yes, ma'am. Um," he stumbled, then found his footing again. "In the eighty-nine return under profit and loss from investments, the Castoro's reported a substantial loss from their investment in a company by the name of Potere Industries." He looked around the room to make certain all were paying attention. "Only there is no company by the name of Potere Industries anywhere within the United States. So I played a hunch."

"Go on," Laura encouraged.

"I took a couple years of Italian in college." He rolled his eyes. "I know, I know. What good is Italian going to do me in California, right? Well, it turns out in this case, a lot. The Italian word for 'power' is 'potere.' Since Castoro is Italian, it seemed worth checking into. A Potere Industries is registered as doing business in Rome, although there's no information on the type of business it is, it has no established facility or employees other than the CFO, listed as one Giovanni Camerote. During divorce proceedings, the first Mrs. Castoro had reported during a deposition that each year her husband received substantial, unreported income from a family trust, which, of course, Castoro denied. That alleged 'trust' was overseen by his maternal uncle…"

"Giovanni Camerote," Laura concluded, aloud.

"Correct! So, I ran an asset search, domestic and foreign on Potere Industries and Giovanni Camerote and confirmed multiple accounts under the name of Giovanni Camerote in Switzerland and the Caymans. Eight of those account numbers match the list Mr. Steele gave us on Friday."

"So, we can now tie Castoro, at least circumstantially, to those accounts," Remington mused rubbing his chin, thoughtfully.

"There's more," Marvin announced.

"Which is?" Laura prompted.

"Eight months ago, each of those accounts were closed and the funds were transferred to newly opened accounts under the name of Jill Lewis. The remaining accounts were closed two-and-a-half years ago, with those funds being transferred into new accounts opened by one—"

"Clarissa Jensen," Laura finished.

"How much are we speaking about, Marvin?" Remington inquired.

"Each account has a balance just shy of two million."

"Marvin, I need you to provide the account numbers listed in Clarissa's name to Mildred," Laura instructed. He gave a sharp nod in answer. "Mildred, reach out to your contact in Probate Court. Find out the name of the best attorney specializing in Probate. We need those accounts frozen by day's end… if Castoro hasn't already closed them in the wake of Clarissa's death." Mildred scribbled out the instructions as Laura spoke. "Marvin and BB, we need to know who Jill's next of kin was and if she had a will. If so, we need to reach out to the executor and set them up with the attorney as well. If Jill died intestate, then we'll have the attorney freeze those accounts as well until her estate can be settled." She turned her eyes on Marvin. "This is a great piece of investigative work, Marvin," she praised.

"Thank you, ma'am," he answered, flushing and fidgeting in embarrassment.

"Brandon, Kiara, anything new on the chop shop? Charlie and Enrique?"

"Yes, ma'am," Brandon confirmed, speaking on behalf of his partner as well. "This weekend we played a hunch and ditched the chop shop, conducting surveillance on Charlie and Enrique instead. We made a couple of interesting stops." Remington straightened slightly at the news.

"Oh? And where might that be?"

"The first was to house in the valley. A little late night reconnaissance revealed it's being used for hydroponics," Brandon revealed.

"Hydroponics?" Laura asked with a tilt of her head.

"Pot growing operation," Brandon answered, getting straight to the point.

"And last night we took a trip to a Cabrillo Way Marina where Charlie and Enrique picked up a shipment after a bit of… sampling," Zack stepped in as he and Celek were covering the evening shift.

"Cocaine?" The investigator shrugged a shoulder.

"That's what I took it for. We wrote down the boat Identification and I confirmed this morning it has a permanent slip at the marina."

"Any movement by Castoro over the weekend?" This from Remington.

"Other than dinner at the country club Saturday night and another visit to your place yesterday," this information drew eyes from all in the room, "He remained at home all weekend."

"What's this about him going by your place yesterday, Boss?" Mildred asked

"He wished for time with his daughter." He raised a brow at the team. "Needless to say, that request was refused. Speaking of Sophie, do we have an ID on Charlie and Enrique yet?"

"We do," Mildred confirmed. "Bernice has put together a photo lineup for Sophie to look at, when you think she's ready."

"Alright. I'll get it from Bernice on my way out," Laura volunteered, "But I wouldn't count on Sophie being ready tonight or possibly even tomorrow. In the meantime, Zack, Celek, I'm taking you off tailing Castoro as it's become clear it's an obvious waste of resources. Brandon, Kiara, other than Charlie and Enrique is there anyone else that frequents that chop shop on a regular basis?"

"A few bangers that are in and out daily," Brandon offered.

"Alright. Zack, Celek, I want you to stay on them," Laura ordered. "Let's see if they lead us to another operation." She leveled a look on Remington that clearly said _I'll explain later._ "Then, if that's all, I can be reached at home all day today, Mr. Steele will be covering the office. Let's get to work."

* * *

Remington dragged himself through the front door and walked into his worst nightmare, at least on this day: the smell of food cooking. He sent up a quick prayer that it was Lina manning that stove, then plastered a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes on his face. It had been a long… boring… day at the office and on more than one occasion he'd thanked the stars above that he'd the real estate venture to keep his mind focused. Elsewise, he'd have been found taking a kip at his desk.

As it was, he'd brought home a dozen listings for homes in remote, family friendly communities, as Laura had specified. All were currently in foreclosure, and although a short sale might take longer than the average sale, the homes would make sound, financial investments. As supportive as he was of this project, it didn't mean he wished to throw money into the wind that could be used for other purposes.

And, he believed he'd found two homes that would meet Laura's exacting requirements and his one. He anticipated it would take a hard sale to make either happen, but it was a discussion that would have to be put onto hold until the girls were better, he'd had a decent meal, and he'd had enough sleep to launch a strong counter argument to Laura's misgivings.

A mere look to his left was all that was required to locate his family. Laura sat at one end of the couch with Olivia's head resting on her lap while, Sophie lay likewise with her head cradled on Catherine's. Which meant those suddenly heavenly smells coming from the kitchen were being concocted at the hands of his father. Providence was, indeed, a fickle mistress, this time choosing to impose solace instead of its typical angst.

Laura held up a finger as he stepped into the room.

"Any improvement?" he whispered, as he sat on the edge of the coffee table and pressed a palm first to Olivia's head, then Sophia's. The last time they'd spoken at three o'clock, the bug still held the girls firmly in its clutches and certainly no mention had been made that his father and Catherine were there.

"They've both managed to keep down the broth down Thomas made for them." She glanced at her watch. "At least so far. It's been a little over an hour."

"That's good, that's good," he nodded his head in approval. "With a little luck, they'll lick this thing before the evening's out. Is Lina helping father out in the kitchen?"

"Actually, she's upstairs packing," she informed him, expecting the look of surprise on his face. "She's booked on an eight-thirty flight to Greece."

" _She's leaving?!"_ he asked, enunciating each word, his voice rising, only to be shushed by Laura. "I thought she'd agreed to run the foundation, was excited about it even."

"She was, she _is_ ," she insisted. "We had a long talk this afternoon. She's going home to pack up the rest of her belongings and to break the news to Marcos and Elena. She'll be back in three weeks – the right way. Meyerson is working hand-in-hand with the INS to get her a work visa, so she doesn't face the same legal entanglements you did. He said he should have it in hand in ten to fourteen business days."

"I see." He mentally calculated when they'd need to leave for the airport and when he'd arrive home.

"You and I will resume taking the girls to preschool in the morning and Thomas and Catherine have very generously agreed to pick them up each afternoon and keep them entertained until we're off." Another surprise, that was, although he wasn't sure why it. After all, they'd returned to the states a good six weeks before their newest grandchild was due just to have time with Olivia exclusively.

"I don't know what to say," he directed to Catherine. "Generous may not be a sufficient enough description for what you've offered to do."

"Thomas and I are thrilled beyond measure to do it. There is little more we enjoy than spending time with our Olivia, and now we'll have time to get to know our Sophia as well," Catherine said, dismissing the expression of gratitude. "She is such a darling child," she murmured, stroking her hair tenderly.

If the day had been boring, then the evening had been anything but. After helping Laura and Catherine move the girls to the living room couch, dinner was quickly consumed as Fred was due to arrive shortly to take Melina to the airport. He accompanied Melina to the airport, where he'd endured her tear filled goodbye, despite the fact that she'd be back in a mere few weeks. He'd arrived home to find Olivia absolutely beside herself because Da had not been there to kiss her goodnight. By the time he'd comforted her, gotten her off to sleep, had showered then collapsed into bed it was after eleven and he was beyond exhausted. All he wanted was Laura's warmth pressed against him, to feel his child beneath his hand and sleep… a solid night's worth.

Laura, as always, seemed to instinctively understand this, for when he lay down, she wriggled backwards until she was tucked snug in the curve of his body, then wrapped his arm around her. Without a word spoken between them, she stroked his arm until with a long, shuddering sigh he slept.

Only to wake the following morning to a silent, empty house. He arrived at the office at ten-thirty, well rested, but instantly perplexed by Bernice's announcement the morning meeting had been cancelled. Bypassing his office door, he strode down the short hallway into Laura's.

"Good morning," she greeted from where she sat behind her desk, smiling at him over the rim of the cup of tea she held in hand. Reaching her desk, he leaned down and bussed her on the cheek, before leaning his backside against the edge of the desk, facing her and crossing his arms. "Before you ask, I made a cursory spot check with everyone and the only one with anything new to report is Mildred. We'll find out what that is together. But, first, you and I need to discuss what I have in mind." _Ahhh_ , _finally we get to it._ Loosening his tie and releasing the top button of his dress shirt, he removed his jacket, then hung it over the back of a chair across from her desk. Sitting down, he crossed an ankle over knee.

"Let's have it then."

"First, I want your word you'll hear me out," she qualified. His stomach dropped a foot, his temper inched up a notch, and his jaw clenched. Those words inevitably proceeded a suggested course of action he wouldn't care for, not in the least.

"Go on." She shook her head slowly.

"Your word, Mr. Steele," she insisted.

The muscle in his jaw twitched and his mouth tightened. Trapped. That was the only word for it, in his assessment. Don't agree, and she'd proceed with her plan with no discussion, no conditions. Agree and he'd all but be conceding to whatever the plan was and she, in turn, would agree, unspoken, that concessions, compromises would have to be made.

"You've my word," he answered reservedly. She sighed inwardly, then took a deep breath outwardly before taking the plunge.

"I want to bring William Westfield in on this. I—"

He abruptly stood, grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and stalked from her office. She winced at the resounding slam of his office door behind him. Leaning back in her chair, she lifted a pair of fingers to her brow and began to rub.

She'd known what Remington's reaction would be when she'd first conceived of the idea.

William Westfield.

Even she flinched a little when she thought his name, for he was the man at the center of a decision that could have cost her… everything. Her fears, her insecurities, her feelings for Remington, and some of the old Laura sneaking back out had conspired to leave her spinning, panicked. And into the picture had walked William Westfield. A Senatorial candidate, the Agency been hired to dig deep into his background and unearth any skeletons that might be hiding in his past. Handling the investigation on her own, she'd ended up spending time with the man.

She'd ended up not only determining he was squeaky clean but he was the kind of man that made _sense_ for her to be with. He was safe… predictable. There would be no uncertainties in a future with him. He was grocery lists hanging on the refrigerator next to a calendar detailing each of their days. He was suburbia. He was the type of man she'd never wake up and find gone one day.

She'd left Remington, broken his heart, all along knowing by the look on the face that was exactly what she was doing. But she'd forged ahead, had walked away. For William Westfield. Or at least that might have been how it appeared on the surface. In truth, she'd run from all her fears. Oh, she'd come to her senses quickly enough, finally admitting to herself that despite the uncertainties the future held with Remington, it was to him her heart unequivocally belonged.

But it had been too late. By the time she'd regained her senses, Remington had put it all together and was gone. She'd arrived at his apartment to find it emptied of anything that belonged to him.

If Remington hadn't wanted to be found, he never would have been. She still thanked God regularly that some part of him had clung to the hope she'd find him… would want to find him.

He'd forgiven her.

But had never forgotten. The words she'd said, her actions… her abandonment of him, them… had cut far too deep.

And in nine little words she'd lanced back open those wounds.

 _I want to bring William Westfield in on this._

When it had been revealed Westfield's campaign backers had numerous skeletons in their own closets and had gone to great lengths to conceal them, any hopes Westfield had to run for Senate had evaporated. Still, over the last six years, he'd done well for himself. After the memories of the scandal had faded, he'd run for and been elected the Attorney General for the State of California last year. It was in that capacity they needed his aid. He could initiate a criminal investigation that remained under the radar; he could put together a task force with law enforcement officers far outside the jurisdiction of the LAPD.

There was no other choice, and God knew she'd tried to find one, only to come up empty.

He, they, would have to find a way to live with it.

Nearly an hour had passed before she heard Remington emerge from his office, fixing himself a cup of tea in the breakroom by the sounds of it. She waited another five minutes to insure he'd be back at his desk, before she pressed her palms to the top of her own desk and pushed herself up out of her chair. She'd allowed him just an hour to seethe, to pout, to fume, then another hour to have it out.

Westfield, after all, would be arriving at two.

She stepped into his office and closed his door, then stilled. He stood at his window, cup of tea in hand, sipping at it, as he stared sightlessly out over the cityscape, the slight stiffening of his back an unconscious acknowledgment that she was there in the room.

"Are you ready to talk?" she asked quietly.

"There's nothing to discuss," he answered flatly.

"Yes, there is," she contradicted, drawing out the last two words. "You need to get past this – hurt, jealousy, whatever it is – because we need to be on the same page when William gets here." His head bobbed as he gave a sharp, almost soundless bark of laughter.

"Already reached out and… touched him… then have you?" She winced at his intentional phrasing.

"I've called him, yes." He finally looked at her, laying hard, cold eyes upon her.

"Tell me, Laura, should I have decided, without discussion, without discourse, without _warning,_ to bring someone from my own, let's say," he circled a hand, "sordid past in to assist us on this. I suppose you'd have been fine with that, supportive even, right?"

"There's nothing, whatsoever, 'sordid' about my past when it comes to William," she defended while crossing her arms and tipping her chin up a notch.

"You bloody well ended us, on a lie at that, and left me for the man, Lau-ra," he shouted, his face infusing with red. She fought to retain her composure.

"I didn't end us because of William. I ended us because of _me_."

"You were going on holiday with the man, to bloody well take him into your bed, at that!" he bellowed, unable to hide his hurt, the betrayal.

"But I didn't go on holiday with him. I didn't take him into my bed. _Because of you_!" His lips tightened, and lifting a thumb to his mouth to worry a nail, he paced away from her.

"I see. So suppose, just supposing, I were to invite, say, Felicia to assist us, to, oh, use her feminine wiles on the man, you'd be fine with that, eh?" She rubbed her arms at the mention of her longtime nemesis and took several short, slow breaths to calm her rampaging heart. He'd taken shot, and it had been accurate – deadly so.

"No, I wouldn't be," she confirmed, struggling to maintain her own composure. "I don't trust the woman, and I don't mean just controlling the impulse to lure you back into her bed. She set you up with Guttman here in Los Angeles, Armstrong in London, and both of us with Roselli in Cannes. She'd betray us like that," she snapped her fingers, "If it meant a better deal for her." She paused and looked at him. "But I'd trust _you_. I know you wouldn't betray our vows or do anything that might risk our family and this life we've built." She paused at length. "I had hoped, you'd know the same is true of me. But apparently I was wrong." With a resigned nod of her head, she turned and left his office, closing not only his office door behind her, but hers as well.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, while dragging a hand through his hair.

His temper, insult, had nothing whatsoever to do with not trusting Laura and everything to do with the memories just the man's name evoked.

He'd been blindsided. Completely and utterly blindsided. They'd only been rid of that infernal Cannes agreement a few short months, and he'd fully believed they were on the same page: looking to the future and seeing the other at their side. Then out of nowhere…

* * *

 _ **"Is that piece of paper the only thing that's keeping us together? Do we really have anything else in common besides this Agency?"**_

 ** _"Laura, if you're talking about my allergy to legwork-"_**

 ** _"No, it's got nothing to do with that. Don't you see? I mean, losing our license may be the very best thing that ever happened to us. Maybe it'll give us time to think about how we really feel towards each other, outside work. All we've ever done is play trial-and-error with our personal relationship, as we try to squeeze it into our professional one."_**

 ** _"Are you saying it hasn't worked?"_**

 ** _"Are you saying it has?"_**

 ** _"Well perhaps not consistently, but-"_**

 _ **"All I'm suggesting is that maybe we take some time, think about it for a while. That's all."**_

* * *

She'd torn his heart from his chest that night, she had. Then, when he'd discovered the truth and William Westfield's involvement in it, she'd shredded that same heart and tossed the pieces into the wind.

A heart that she'd taken infinite care of over these last years, he reminded himself. Their marriage, their life, their family, all of it by her design. In that acknowledgment, he found peace. She'd no more place at risk what they'd built together than he would. And if she could so willingly open her heart to the daughter of the woman he'd attempted to wed, so confident was she in what they'd created together, how could he not exhibit that same faith now?

With that thought in mind, he strode through breakroom then her office door, strong in conviction of the choice he made, when he watched her draw in a fast shallow breath of relief.

'Alright, Mrs. Steele," he announced, as he took a seat in the chair across from her, "Let's have it. How does Westfield figure into bringing Castoro down?" Her eyes glimmered at the question… and its underlying message of trust.

"I think you and I can agree that we both would say Jarvis and Benjamin are as clean as they come, but…"


	33. Chapter 32: Call to Action

Chapter 32: Call to Action

"I know the evidence we have to date is circumstantial—"

"As best," William interrupted Laura to corroborate, as they sat in her office conference area. Per the agreement between she and Remington, she would continue to take lead on the case.

"But, this guy's good, very good, at hiding his tracks and keeping his hands clean," she continued.

"Has one of your investigators interviewed the ex-wife?"

"No. We're doing our best not to alert Castoro to our movements," she shared. "Even though the divorce was bitter, with shared custody, who knows how they are getting along now. Not to mention fears of losing alimony, child support. I don't know that we could trust her not to alert Castoro people are asking questions."

"Good point." He turned his chair and attention towards Remington. "And fill me in on, how you came into possession of that list of account numbers?

"Jill, the second woman to be killed, asked me to retrieve an envelope from the pocket of her coat," Remington supplied. "Given she seemed to understand the odds of her survival were… poor and she chose to give me that directive in what might be her final moments, it seemed prudent to do as she'd directed before I took my leave."

"Did she tell you what was in the envelope?" Westfield pursued.

"She didn't have long and seemed to need to… unburden herself should she die," Remington reminded him. "I didn't feel it an appropriate time to pursue explanations on what was contained within. I'd find out soon enough."

"But she did confess to killing Clarissa Jensen on Castoro's orders?"

"Again, she stated she did it 'for him'. She did not specify he asked her to." Westfield nodded and turned away from him to Mildred, who'd joined them a few minutes before at Laura's request. "The current accounts?"

"Still funded," she answered, concisely. "Thirty-one mil between the sixteen accounts in Lewis and Jensen's names."

"As assets of two recently deceased women, have they been frozen until probate's completed?"

"The lawyer has encountered resistance from the banks. Their muckety-mucks are demanding an order from the court," she reported. "The attorney is trying to get an expedited court date, but no go so far."

"I'll have that order by end of day. I'd rather obtain the order outside of LA, anyway, for obvious reasons." Westfield skimmed his notes. "That's all I'll need from you, Ms. Krebs, if you need to be doing something else."

"I do," she confirmed. "Mrs. Steele, if we could meet once you're available?" She and Marvin had uncovered information earlier that she was enthused to share, as she thought it might help split things wide open.

"I'll come see you as soon as we're done here," Laura promised.

The room fell silent as Mildred gathered up her files and left the room. They'd been at it for two and a half hours. A long, grueling two-and-a-half hours in which the same questions had been asked a half-dozen different ways, trying to elicit new details. Remington had to hand it to the man: he was thorough.

"So, tell me what you're hoping I can do for you, Laura," Westfield wondered, redirecting his full attention on her.

"We need to shake Castoro up. The evidence we've gathered so far may only be circumstantial in terms of his involvement, but we have three locations – two static, one moving – where criminal activities are taking place." She leaned towards William. "If you organize a raid of the known locations, using law enforcement officers with no association to the LAPD, I think between the freezing of those sixteen accounts we've linked to Castoro, and at least two of his operations, we may throw him off-balance enough that he makes a mistake."

"Flushing him out, forcing him to make a move to protect any other interests he might have," Westfield summed up, catching on.

"And in the meantime, our investigators will follow anyone who manages to escape the sweep, and we'll find out what else they lead us to," she said, taking it a step further.

"And, knowing you, you have an idea of when you'd like this all to take place?" he smiled.

"I do. Friday, ten a.m.," she specified. "He'll be in Court with Mr. Steele and I, which not only means he'll have difficulty associating the raids in any way with us, but it will also make it difficult for any of his cronies to tip him off so he can put things in motion." She leaned back in her chair and rested her hands on her belly. "And no matter what, the state of California comes out ahead: a hydroponics operation and stolen car operation shut down; if the boat's in dock, a cocaine route cut off; not to mention nearly thirty-two million which will eventually be seized by the state."

"Three days to pull it all together," Westfield thrummed his fingers on the table. "We'd need three full teams. I'd have to borrow agents and officers from multiple agencies to create a task force. We'd need to locate a command point here in LA, outside of the LAPD, of course. We'd need to scout each of the locations, determine points of entrance and exit. I'd want to get court orders for video and audio surveillance on Castoro's home and office, access to his phone records."

"Mr. Steele and an old friend own a string of electronic businesses." This drew Remington's eyes to her. "They have a couple of buildings they use to warehouse inventory. I'm sure enough space could be freed up in one of them to provide you room for a command center on a temporary basis. What do you think?" This to Remington.

"It could be done easily enough with only a phone call," he concurred. Westfield's attention focused on him.

"I'll need you and your people to do some late-night reconnaissance of those two buildings: All exits and entrances accounted for, any exterior areas that might provide cover or represent a threat to the safety of my people." Remington gave him a crisp nod.

"Understood."

"I'd also like a team sitting on the marina the next two nights. If the boat's in dock, how many aboard? Any visible weaponry?" He looked at Laura. "We may want to hit it Thursday evening under the guise of an anonymous tip to the Coast Guard of suspicious activity taking place on board. It may help your cause Friday morning to have Castoro a little off balance."

"Alright," Laura agreed, drawing the word out, marking her misgivings. "You aren't concerned that will inspire Castoro to take steps to protect the other locations?"

"Not at all. The 'tip' will suggest the caller believes illegals are being brought in on the boat. If there are drugs on board and we happen to locate them, it would be incidental to the original 'tip.'" He faced Remington again. "Can you have space cleared in that warehouse you were speaking of by morning? We'll need to have lines run for power and phones."

"I'll contact my partner without delay. In fact, if we're done, I'll leave you and Laura to the details while I ring him up." Standing, he offered his hand to the man. "Mr. Westfield."

"Mr. Steele." He watched as Remington left the room then turned to Laura. "I have to tell you, I was shocked to hear you married your boss," Westfield commented. "If I'd known things hadn't worked out with you and the other man, I'd have asked you for a second chance to win your heart," he smiled.

"They did work out," she corrected. "Remington and I had been seeing each other for three years, more or less, when I…" She couldn't say the words. "We've been married nearly five years, have a three-year-old daughter and now this one on the way." She rubbed her stomach absently.

"It's been good seeing you, Laura," Westfield told her, pulling her into an embrace then releasing her. "I'll call first thing in the morning to confirm the space has been freed up for the command post." He began gathering his paperwork and the copies of the Agency files they'd provided. "I'm staying at the Royal Palms, Suite 816 if you need to update me with anything. I'll speak with you tomorrow morning otherwise."

After showing Westfield out, Laura joined Remington in his office.

"I do appreciate it… Still, I'm grateful… Have a good evening as well, Father." Hanging up the phone, he stood and pulled his suit coat off the back of the chair and slipped it on. "Monroe guaranteed there will be enough space cleared in the second street warehouse no later than eight tomorrow morning," he updated. "I have the second Finegold store this afternoon, and will be meeting Burton and Graham at the chop shop afterwards to perform the requisite reconnaissance. Warmack and Celek will keep watch over the docks. Father has insisted on making certain yourself and the girls won't waste away, and is preparing dinner as we speak."

"Alright," she agreed, as his arms circled her, and he drew her near. "I thought after I meet with Mildred, I'd go home a little early, spend some time with them outside before it gets dark." She frowned as she recalled something. "Once the girls are in bed, I want to go through the contents of Clarissa's safe deposit box." He nodded his head slowly and pursed his lips.

"It seems I've a couple of late nights ahead," he pointed out.

"It would seem so," she agreed.

"Tell Livvie I'll make it a point to kiss her when I get home?"

"I will. And what should I tell Livvie's mother?" she teased.

"Ah," he grinned. "Tell her should it not be too late, I may well have more than a simple goodnight kiss from her in mind." He dropped a kiss on her lips and gave a cheek of her bum a playful pat, then left the office and Agency.

Making a detour through their breakroom where she made herself a fresh cup of tea, she rapped twice with a knuckle on Mildred's door then stepped into her office.

"You needed to see me?" Laura greeted their senior investigator.

"I think Marvin and I may have hit the jackpot," Mildred enthused. Raising her brows, Laura took a seat while drinking a sip of her tea.

"What have you got?"

"The building where the chop shop is located is owned by a real estate group by the name of Prime Realty who, in turn, is listed as a subsidiary of Global Properties. The second property is owned by Sea View Real Estate, who are owned by Bay Area Holdings," she shared before pausing dramatically.

"Go on," Laura insisted.

"Global Properties and Bay Area Holdings are owned by the Pisa Property Investment Group whose sole owner is…"

"Giovanni Camerote," Laura finished.

"You got it," Mildred grinned, handing Laura a piece of paper. "So, Marvin and I did some more digging and found eight more properties owned by Bay Area, Global and Pisa. I thought you might want to have them checked out."

"You're right. I do. Good work, Mildred," Laura commended.

"I gotta ask, Mrs. Steele. How's the Boss doing with having to work with you-know-who?" Both Bernice and Mildred knew the Westfield's place in the past.

"I'm sure the fifteenth floor heard he wasn't overjoyed when I first told him," Laura smiled, knowing without a smidgeon of doubt Remington's initial outrage had reached the ears of Bernice and Mildred. "But he's fine, not missing a beat."

"I don't mind telling you, I was worried," Mildred shared.

"So was I," Laura admitted. "But the man's always been full of surprises," she noted as she rose from her seat. "I'm leaving early to spend some time with the girls. I'll see you in the morning."

"Have a good evening, kiddo."

"You, too, Mildred," she returned.

Grabbing her purse from her office, she touched base with Bernice then left for home.

* * *

Laura spent an enjoyable late afternoon playing with Olivia and Sophia while Catherine kept her company.

"Higher, Mommy, higher!" Oliva insisted, giggling all the while, and her mother obliged.

"Higher, Grans, higher!" Sophia mimicked with glee. At the chosen name, Laura cast a sideways glance towards Catherine but said nothing until they sat on lounge chairs watching the girls as they climbed up the slide, then came down… climbed up the slide, then came down.

"Catherine, how do you feel about Sophia calling you 'Grans'?" Laura ventured. "If you're uncomfortable with it—" Catherine lay a hand over hers, stopping her.

"Why ever should I be uncomfortable? She will, after all, one day soon be my granddaughter, by virtue of marriage if not by blood." Her eyes found Sophia, and a smile played on her face. "She's a lovely child, Laura, and I fully intend to love and spoil her the same as I do Olivia, as I will this next child." Laura gave her hand a squeeze.

"She's lucky to have you in her life," Laura complimented, sincerely.

"Oh, it is I who am the fortunate one," Catherine contradicted, quietly. "When I married Thomas, I'd made my peace with the fact there would never be children, and by virtue of that, grandchildren. How blessed we have been to first find Remington, and now to know the joys of grandchildren. Olivia, Sophia, the new baby, have restored a dream I'd believed forever lost."

Laura was left wondering if Remington even understood how many people's lives he'd changed for the better, merely by existing. After a childhood of being wanted by no one, he'd brought two decades of joy to Daniel's life; he'd fulfilled Thomas three decade long dream of finding his son; he'd given Catherine the grandchildren she'd longed to have but never would; he'd brought to Veronica and Maxie friendship and independence. And as for herself? A life she'd stopped believing would ever be hers.

Her nostalgia was quickly set aside when darkness began to fall and she called the girls in for the night. She'd been promptly hauled up the steps by two excited little girls who wanted to share with her the latest treasures Grans had arrived with. Catherine had showered them both with a dozen new spring outfits, many complete with little purses, frilly socks and shoes to match, a brand new doll for each of them and a tea set for them to share. Long ago she'd given up her attempts to keep Catherine from inundating Olivia with gifts, and had just come to accept it meant all the less time for her to spend shopping for clothes Olivia would need for upcoming seasons. If what she saw before her now was any indication, the same would be said for Sophia.

Thomas had gone above and beyond, preparing a roast with parsley potatoes and seasoned carrots, fresh baked bread, and peach pie ala mode for dessert. Stuffed to the brim, neither girl gave Laura a single complaint about bath and bed. By the time she arrived back downstairs, the dishwasher was running, a plate warmed in the oven for Remington and table and counters had been cleaned until they gleamed. The couple said their goodbyes, leaving Laura on her own.

A long bath gave her much needed time to relax and the hot, swirling water went a long way towards easing the ache in her back. She'd opted for one of Remington's dress shirts to sleep in, as she often reached for when missing him, not feeling well or out of sorts. Only once she'd climbed into bed had she retrieved the manila envelope from her bedside drawer and dump its meager contents onto the bed. The contents of Clarissa's safety deposit box that had gone forgotten in all the activity the last days included only a small notebook, two bundles of cash, and two mini-cassette tapes.

Setting aside the tapes and money, Laura thumbed through the notebook.

8/18 _/89 Robert and Phillip. Product arriving. Lukeville. 10pm. Deliver to Paco._

 _12/23/89 Enrique. Pickup. Westside._

 _2/16/90 Robert and Phillip. Product arriving. El Paso. 1 am. Deliver to Eriberto_

 _3/15/90 Charlie and Enrique. Shipment. 10pm._

Nineteen entries total, ending in January of the current year, including five references to Westside. Names. Dates. Times on most. If it could be linked to specific places, specific incidences, it was nothing short of gold.

The next two pages were a list of dates on which Castoro had made threats against Clarissa and Sophie, as well as denials of paternity. All would most likely be considered inadmissible by the Court, but Laura made a mental note to copy and fax them to Abernathy just in case. She thumbed through the two stacks of money, both mixtures of five, ten, twenty and fifty dollar bills – several thousand, a rough guesstimate. Escape money? She suspected so.

That left only the two tapes. Retrieving the mini-recorder from Remington's bedside table, she made herself comfortable again and slipped in the first tape. Then marveled at the guts Clarissa had displayed in recording the conversation. It was a discussion of the Westside hit. When it would happen. First names of those who'd be involved. The why of it all. Clarissa had told her and Remington in the hospital that she'd overheard the details, but never did she reveal she had the proof to back up her allegations. Why? Why hide it away in a bank deposit box?

Then it came to her. Insurance. Safe passage. Castoro wouldn't be able to risk that tape going public, exposing him. She deduced that third tape found under the kitchen drawer would have soon joined these first two… Clarissa had simply run out of time before it could.

Setting the tape aside, she reached for the second. And listened in horror to a gut wrenching, terror filled recording of domestic violence and child abuse. By the time Sophie's yelps had become screams and those had eventually turned to whimpers, the wetness slipped past Laura's lashes and dripped off her jaw to splash upon the front of her shirt. Clarissa's harsh sobs when she'd regained consciousness and found Sophie, had forced Laura to turn the recorder off. She sought solace in the girls' room. Sitting in the rocker, she pulled a blanket over herself and simply rocked while watching them for hours.

They were babies. _Sophie_ was just a baby. How much did she remember? Were there nights she woke crying that it wasn't her mother she was dreaming of, but instead memories of what Castoro had done to her? Did she remember any of it, at all?

She wanted to kill him… Castoro. To whip him, blister him, until he was left whimpering on the ground. She wanted to…

"Laura? Are one of the girls ill again?" Remington asked in a whisper. She started, not even realizing he'd come home.

"No, they're both fine," she answered in a low voice, watching as he bent down and placed a kiss on Livvie's forehead and adjusted her covers.

"Are you not feeling well? Is it the babe?" he pressed, concerned, as he bussed Sophie's forehead then fixed her covers as well.

"We're fine," she assured him. "The tapes are on the bed. I'll be in shortly," she told him in a roundabout answer.

"Alright. I'll just have a quick shower then give them a listen." He stooped down in front of her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before palming her cheek. "You're sure you and Baby Steele are okay?" She pressed her cheek into his hand and gave him a weak smile, meant to reassure him.

"We're fine. I just can't listen to it again. Go, shower, listen, I'll be in soon." He nodded his head slowly, lips pursed, then stood and dropping a kiss on her forehead, left the room.

Understanding of her state dawned all too soon, and rage seeped into his veins as he listened to Sophia's torment. Had he heard the tale the audio tape told before Castoro's appearance at their home three days prior, he wouldn't have left unscathed. He'd just gathered up tapes, notebook and cash and returned them to their envelope when Laura returned to the room. Placing the envelope in his nightstand as she crawled into bed, he turned off the light, then sealed his body around hers. She reached for his hand and tangling their fingers together, tucked their joined hands between her breasts.

"How does a grown man do that to a small child? She's just a baby." He swallowed hard at the heartbreak he heard in her voice.

"I don't know, I don't know," he answered, truthfully, nuzzling his chin against the top of her head. "Men such as Castoro are simply…" he searched for the word "…twisted, whether due to something that happened to them in their own lives or because they were simply born that way."

"Do you think she remembers?" The thought had haunted her since she'd heard the tape. "Do you remember things from that age?" His tongue flicked against his lips as a series of unwanted images flashed through his head.

"I try not to." She latched onto the second word.

"But you do."

"Yes, but not as vividly as I once did."

"I don't want that man anywhere near Sophie again, Mr. Steele," she told him with steely resolve. "If the court awards him visitation, I'll take the girls and go to Vail until he's behind bars. We have no idea what else he's done to her, what else she's seen. But she won't have even more of those memories to carry with her. We can't let that happen." Behind her, he nodded

"A simple property search would reveal our home in Vail," he pointed out to her, quietly. She pursed her lips. He was right. She searched her mind until she found the answer.

"You still keep in touch with Billie, don't you?" she questioned.

"I do."

"Do you think she would mind a woman, two children and a pair of Monroe's men taking up residence in a couple of her cabins for a while?"

"I think she'd be delighted." He snuggled closer to her. "I'll make a discreet call to her in the morning. In the meantime, I'd suggest we grab the few winks we can." With a big yawn, she squeezed his hand, her sign of agreement.

"What happened to that promise of more than a kiss, big guy?" she teased, sleepily.

"Tomorrow. I don't think either of us can muster the energy for what I have in mind," he mumbled. Her only response was a half-hearted nod of agreement before she surrendered to sleep, he following shortly behind.


	34. Chapter 33: Celebration

Chapter 33: Celebration

It had been a busy few days for the Remington Steele Agency. As promised, space for the command center was cleared in the second street warehouse by eight a.m. Wednesday morning. Linemen arrived at eight fifteen, followed by a box truck loaded with tables, chairs, phones, faxes, and multiple computer terminals. By ten a.m. the place was humming, with the three teams of four law enforcement officer's each, handpicked by Westfield, prepared to go to work. A half hour later, Laura and Remington sat down at the impromptu conference table with the dozen officers, Westfield, and Westfield's legal assistant.

"Let's start out by introducing ourselves," Westfield directed, taking lead of the meeting, at least for now. Going around the table clockwise, each person introduced themselves, supplying their name and the law enforcement agency they'd been procured from. Once complete, Westfield got straight to business. "Miss Abraham arrived this morning with the court orders I requested. This evening, a team disguised as a janitorial crew will be installing listening devices and tapping the phone in Castoro's office at the LAPD. Tracking devices will be temporarily installed on Castoro's business and personal vehicles. As of two hours ago, all sixteen Swiss and Cayman accounts in the names of Jensen and Lewis have been frozen, as have their personal accounts and interests here in the States. Any questions so far?"

"Castoro's home?" Laura inquired simply.

"We have it on good authority that Castoro and his wife dine at their Country Club each Wednesday evening," Westfield answered. "Once they depart, our team will enter the premises, tap the phones, set up audio surveillance throughout the home, and place tracking devices on any vehicles on the premises."

"Someone on the team has experience overriding a security system of the quality that will most likely be monitoring Castoro's residence?" she sought to verify. "If not, it might be wise Mr. Steele accompany the team as he has substantial experience at overriding the most complex of systems." She flashed Remington a quick smirk, and watched as his blue eyes danced with amusement. Westfield gave the suggestion consideration.

"Once you override the system, you're done, understood? You're not a law enforcement officer and therefore are not covered under the court order. I don't want to risk your discovery on the premises."

"Good enough," Remington agreed.

"Now, I'd like to introduce you to Captain Al Thibodeaux, from the California State Bureau of Investigation. He'll be running the show for all intents and purposes." Murmured greetings rose around the table, as the large, burly man stood.

"Team two, narcotics. You've brought your dogs with you I see," Thibodeaux observed with a glance at the four cages in the back of the command center. "Tomorrow evening you'll be hitching a ride with a Coast Guard cutter coming up out of San Diego. The vessel will be boarded under the guise of an anonymous tip of suspicion of transport of illegals into the United States. If your dog indicates even a trace of narcotics on the vessel, all onboard are to be taken into custody and they'll be transported to Coast Guard headquarters where questioning will commence." Thibodeaux scanned the group of four. "Davis, I know your work. You'll take lead of Team Two. I want you and your people to familiarize yourself with the Marina and any activity on the vessel if it's in its slip today."

"Yes, sir," Davis answered crisply. Thibodeaux turned his attention to Laura and Remington.

"It's my understanding reconnaissance was to be conducted last night on one of the two static targets?" Unfolding a sheet of sketch paper, Remington handed it to Thibodeaux.

"The chop shop," he provided. "Points of entrance and exit, potential areas of concealment, areas of risk are marked." After reviewing the diagram, he gave a sharp nod of his head.

"This is good stuff," he complimented, before handing the paper to Westfield's assistant. "We'll need copies for each member of Team One, myself and Westfield." He returned his attention those at the table. "Team One, you'll breach the chop shop Friday morning at ten-hundred hour. Today and tomorrow, you'll meet up with Steele's people and spend time familiarizing yourself with the building and surrounding area. Breathwaite, you'll take lead over Team One."

"Yes, sir," was the immediate response.

"Steele—"

"If you don't mind," Laura stepped in, "Two of our investigators uncovered some information yesterday that might lead you to alter your plans, at least for today."

"What do you have?" Thibodeaux asked, all no-nonsense

"Eight additional properties in the area," she explained, handing him the list of addresses, "Each linked through shell companies to Giovanni Camerote, the man whose name Potere Industries and those sixteen accounts were originally registered to. We're a small Agency, only three teams of investigators in the field and one of those teams is currently sidelined," she patted her stomach, noting the obvious reason why. Laughter echoed around the table.

"Teams One and Three, you'll partner up and each team will check out two of these properties. Let's find out what, if anything, is happening at these locations." His directive was met by eight nodding heads. "Steele, you'll have recon of the hydroponics op completed tonight?"

"I will," Remington confirmed.

"Alright people, let's move," Thibodeaux commanded.

As the table cleared, Laura leaned in to speak in an undertone to Remington.

"Did you make that call?" They'd taken different cars into work that morning, Remington dropping the girls off at school, while Laura gave the staff a quick briefing before their paths rejoined at the warehouse.

"I did and Billie asked that I convey her home is our home, whenever need should arise." He stood and offered her a hand, which she gratefully took as she rose to her feet. "I'll walk you out."

"Are you sure you're don't mind—" He dipped his head down, leaning closer to her ear.

"Relax," he admonished, gently. She focused on releasing the tension from her shoulders, but couldn't help but to pursue it.

"I can—"

"Lau-ra," he drew out her name. She turned to him as they stepped outside, blowing out a short, frustrated breath, and looking away. Clasping her face in his hands, he drew her eyes to meet his. "Stop borrowing trouble."

"I just don't want—"

"I know," he assured her, then drew her lips up to his. When their lips parted, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and brushed her lips against his neck.

"Let's hope for an early night tonight," she breathed, a pair of sultry brown eyes meeting his appreciative blue ones.

"From your lips…" he agreed, stealing another kiss, before handing her into the car and watching her drive away.

* * *

But it wasn't to be that night or the following, as Remington had been called upon to do another round of recon on Thursday evening, even as phase one of Westfield's plan was being put into action across town. Of the eight addresses Mildred and Marvin had ferreted out, one proved to be a heroin cutting operation. Westfield made the executive decision to bring in a fourth team, which would bring the total number of targets to be raided on Friday morning to three. He stumbled through the front door at half-past one, dove into the shower, then collapsed into bed, an arm reaching for Laura. He closed his eyes, smiling, as their little one made their presence known with a swift kick to his hand. Slipping his hand under the tail of Laura's shirt, he stroked her stomach as he leaned over her sleeping form.

"Shhh, little one. Your Mommy needs her rest. We've a busy day ahead of us tomorrow," he murmured. Next to him, Laura's lips lifted in a smile.

"Baby Steele's Mommy is already awake," she announced softly in the quiet room.

"Well, in that case…" he eased her to her back and released several buttons on her shirt, baring her skin. His hand followed the path of the baby's movement.

"Coffee?" he guessed. She scrunched her face.

"More like chocolate ice cream with chocolate sauce and whipped cream," she admitted, as he chuckled.

"Nervous about tomorrow, then?" She raised her brows and shrugged a shoulder.

"And tonight." She wriggled around to face him, his hand adjusting as she moved. "Six in custody and twenty kilos of cocaine plus a boat confiscated." He gave a low whistle.

"Not bad for a night's work," he noted, then raised his brows at her. "I imagine Castoro's fit to be tied." She hummed her agreement, as she reached out and threaded her fingers through his hair.

"Let's just hope everything goes our way tomorrow, as well," she brooded.

"Should it not, we've a plan in place and Tank and Dozer know how to proceed," he reminded her. If Monroe's men didn't hear from one of the Steele's by ten-thirty, they were to take the girls from the preschool and drive directly to Twin Pines. His hand left her stomach to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. "Are you certain about this, Laura? If it comes down to us violating a court order, we could face charges, loss of our licenses, possibly even the Agency."

"She's a child," she said simply, as though that answered his question. And it did.

"After all these years, I still marvel at what a remarkable woman you are, Mrs. Steele," he praised, quietly.

"It's not a choice, Mr. Steele," she told him, brushing off the compliment. "It's what's right. It's what someone should have done for you, for any child." Cupping her neck, he kissed her hard, then again.

"What do you say to a bit of a celebration, hmmmmm? You and I… alone… on the sailboat tomorrow evening." Her eyes lit up.

"A date?" He grinned at her at waggled his brows.

"I was thinking dinner, a little dancing, a lot more than just a kiss."

"It sounds _wonderful_." Touching his lips to her stomach, he urged her to turn back to her other side, then wrapped his lean frame around hers.

"And on Saturday, I was thinking we might look at a couple of houses I have in mind, and after, perhaps a picnic and afternoon with the girls at the beach?" Her brows knit together as she focused on the first part of what he'd said.

"What houses?" she queried. He hadn't mentioned he'd been searching the real estate listings, and wondered how he'd even found the time to do so.

"What's life…" he left the thought unfinished, as she scrunched her nose, knowing he'd tell her no more about the properties he'd found. Still, it didn't hurt to try.

"Mr. Steele," she drawled out his name in warning, to no avail, for he merely chuckled behind her.

"If we must move, I think it's time we go for the dream. I won't say more than that." Leaving her with that thought which was guaranteed to drive her insane with curiosity, he bussed her on the top of her head and closed his eyes.

He could only grunt, then laugh, when he took an elbow of protest in the stomach several minutes later. He fell asleep while beside him, Laura's eyes remained wide open as she tried to figure out what, exactly, he was about this time.

* * *

"All rise. The Honorable Annabelle McCord presiding," called the bailiff. Laura and Remington stood, as directed, at the table of the Respondents.

"Sit, sit," McCord said, motioning with her hands, as she took her own seat on the bench. "We're here on the matter of Gabriel Castoro, Plaintiff versus Laura and Remington Steele, Respondents." She eyed the two attorneys over the top rim of her glasses. "Ms. Abernathy, Mr. Prescott, let's try to make this as painless as possible today, as difficult as that can be for both of you." The attorneys exchanged a look of two adversaries who'd often gone toe-to-toe with one another.

"Yes, Your Honor," they intoned at the same time.

"Mr. Prescott, the floor's yours. Let's just try to remember, this is family court, not criminal and get straight to the point," McCord ordered. Remington and Laura exchanged concerned looks. On the face of things, it would appear the Judge was not particularly enamored with either lawyer.

"Yes, Your Honor," Prescott agreed. "We have a fairly simple matter before the Court this morning. Gabriel Castoro is here to request that the court enter an order awarding Deputy Chief Castoro sole legal and physical custody of his three-year-old biological child, Sophia Alexis Jensen, given the untimely and tragic passing of the child's mother. Deputy Chief Castoro's wife, as you can see," he indicated the stoic woman seated beside Castoro, "Is fully supportive of the Plaintiff's bid for custody, and intends to adopt the child in the near future. While the child's mother did sign guardianship of the minor child over to Mr. and Mrs. Steele, as the Court is well aware the rights of the biological parent trump those of any other party." With that, Prescott took his seat.

"Anything else, Mr. Prescott?" He rose again, hands pressed against the table.

"That's all, for now, Your Honor." McCord turned to Abernathy as Prescott regained his seat. "Ms. Abernathy?"

"Your Honor, while we concur with the Plaintiff's statement that the minor child's mother, Clarissa Jensen, signed over legal guardianship to Mr. and Mrs. Steele, we would argue the remaining statements presented to this Court as fact are anything but. As the arrest record we provided to the Court last week shows, Ms. Jensen was, by trade, a prostitute. Given her profession, there is no conclusive way, absent paternity testing, for Mr. Castoro to state with any certainty that he is the child's natural father. As such, the Respondents are requesting that the Court order paternity testing and until such a time as those results are supplied to the Court, the minor child remain in the care of Mr. and Mrs. Steele's, as the child's mother wished. Thank you, Your Honor." Abernathy returned to her seat.

"Mr. Prescott?" McCord addressed opposing counsel.

"Your Honor, I think it would benefit the Court to hear from Deputy Chief Castoro, directly, in answer to these claims."

"By all means," McCord agreed. "Mr. Castoro –"

"I prefer Deputy Chief, Your Honor," Castoro interrupted, as he stood. McCord's eyes narrowed on him.

"Deputy Chief, if you'll take the stand. Bailiff, swear _Deputy Chief_ Castoro in, please." Once the oath was complete, Prescott approached his client.

"Deputy Chief, the Respondents allege there is no way for you to conclusively know the minor child is your biological child. Do you have a response to those claims?" Prescott asked.

"I do," Castoro nodded. "Clarissa… Ms. Jensen… stopped… seeing clients… when she and I began to date. We'd been dating, in fact, for some time when she became pregnant with our child."

"So you have no doubts that Sophia Alexis Jensen is, in fact, your biological child?"

"None whatsoever," Castoro answered, firmly.

"Have you been actively involved in the child's life?" Prescott continued.

"Since before her birth. In fact," he added, "Up until her mother's unfortunate death, I spent several days a week with Sophia. It was important to me that she felt secure in both her parents' love for her, whether or not Clarissa… Ms. Jensen… and I were still involved."

"Have you aided in supporting the minor child?"

"I have," Castoro replied, looking to the Judge as he answered. McCord held up her hand, indicating he should stop speaking for the moment and thumbed through the file in front of her.

"A formal order of support wasn't submitted to this Court," she stated. "Did you have a private child support arrangement drawn up?"

"No, Your Honor. I support Sophia wholly by my own choice and make sure she never goes without," Castoro responded. "I paid for the apartment in which she and her mother lived, and I provided Ms. Jensen with money weekly for whatever Sophia might need, or want."

"Is there anything else you would like the Court to know, Deputy Chief?" Prescott inquired.

"Yes," Castoro nodded affirmatively. "Sophia's recently suffered a great trauma in the loss of her mother. She needs to be with her father, so that I can provide her the love and comfort she needs in what is surely a very frightening, confusing time for her. Up until thirteen days ago, Sophia had never met the Steele's, had no idea who they were. And while I am sure they believe they are acting in her best interests, what Sophia needs now, more than ever, is her father."

"Thank you, Deputy Chief." Prescott resumed his seat. As Castoro stood to leave the stand, the Judge directed him, with a gesture of her hand, to remain seated.

"Ms. Abernathy, do you have any questions for Deputy Chief Castoro?"

"Yes, Your Honor, I do," Abernathy answered with conviction, then rose from her seat to approach the man. "Mr. Castoro—"

"Deputy Chief," he interrupted, as he had with the judge.

"Mr. Castoro," Abernathy repeated, firmly. Castoro eyes flashed fire at the woman for what he deemed as her impertinence. "You've stated that you have no question… none whatsoever… that Sophia is your biological child. Is that correct?"

"As I've already said, I'm certain Sophia is my child, yes," he replied, annoyance threading through his words.

"And you are close to Sophia?"

"We are very close, yes. Which is why—" Abernathy spoke over him.

"Would you describe your relationship with the minor child as loving and nurturing, or distant and hostile?" Castoro's spine straightened almost imperceptibly and his brows knitted together at the question.

"What kind of question—"

"Your Honor, can you please direct the witness to answer the question?" Abernathy requested.

"Deputy Chief, please answer the question posed by counsel," McCord instructed.

"Loving and nurturing, of course," he responded in a clipped tone.

"Have you ever given the minor child reason to be fearful of you?" Abernathy pressed.

"Objection!" Prescott declared, coming to his feet. "Deputy Chief Castoro has already described his relationship with the minor child as loving, nurturing and supportive. Ms. Abernathy's question is not only insulting, but has already been asked and answered previously." McCord considered Prescott's stance for long seconds, then directed her attention to Abernathy.

"I'm inclined to agree with Mr. Prescott, on this," McCord announced.

"Your Honor, I would like to submit to the Court this audio recording made by the minor child's mother," Abernathy requested, retrieving the first of the two tapes and approaching the Judge's bench, "Which will, in fact, impugn the testimony given to this Court by Mr. Castoro."

"Objection!" Prescott exclaimed, taking to his feet again. "California Penal Code 632 forbids the recording of private conversations where there is an expectation of privacy unless all parties consent to such recording."

"Ms. Abernathy?" McCord addressed the other attorney.

"We would contend there was no expectation of privacy given the presence of a third party, the minor child, in the home at the time the recording was made. The child's bedroom is located directly across from her mother's, allowing her to readily hear raised voices, and, in fact, it was feasible the child cold enter her mother's room at any time, thereby negating the expectation of privacy. Further, we are not in criminal court, but family, where the law is concerned, above all, with the best interests of the child. We are not seeking to criminally charge Mr. Castoro with any misdeeds, but rather are seeking to prove his testimony here this morning has been nothing short of perjured and that the child's best interests are not, as Mr. Castoro has clearly stated, his priority." McCord thrummed her fingers on the desk in front of her as she considered both arguments.

"I'll allow it," she decided.

"Thank you, Your Honor."

Abernathy retrieved the mini-cassette player from off the table where Remington and Laura sat, inserted the tape, then pressed play. Castoro's face was red with fury by the time the recording ended, while his attorney sat, slumped shouldered, after hearing the tapes revelations. Abernathy rose to her feet.

"We've no further questions for this witness, Your Honor," Abernathy announced.

"Deputy Chief, you may leave the witness stand," McCord directed. Castoro stormed back to the table and took his seat next to his attorney, bending his head to speak in his counselor's ear. "Mr. Prescott, do you have anything further?" Prescott nodded to his client then stood.

"I'd like to call Laura Steele to the stand." Laura's eyes widened in surprise and she looked to Abernathy for direction. A subtle nod of Abernathy's head, sent her to her feet. In short order, she, too, was sworn in.

"Mrs. Steele, how did you and your husband come to be in acquaintance with Ms. Jensen?" Prescott queried.

"She was a client of ours several years ago, in '85 I believe."

"What was your relationship to Mr. Steele at the time?" Prescott continued.

"At that time, we were friends, business partners, and had been seeing each other on a personal level for nearly three years, for the most part," she replied succinctly.

"And in May of '86 were you and Mr. Steele still 'seeing each other on a personal level'?" She nodded.

"We were."

"Yet, correct me if I'm mistaken, he and Ms. Jensen applied for a marriage license in May of '86. Is that correct?" She maintained her icy calm façade even as she absorbed the blow from the man.

"It is."

"So, it's reasonable to conclude that Mr. Steele and Ms. Jensen were 'seeing each other on a personal level' as well, is it not?" he pressed, smelling blood in the water.

"No, it's not." He stutter stepped at the answer, clearly surprised. "Mr. Steele's misguided plan to marry Clarissa was a professional arrangement, nothing more."

"I'm sorry, can you elaborate?" She shrugged a shoulder, trying to appear indifferent to the questioning.

"Mr. Steele's right to be in the United States as an Irish citizen came under question with the United States. In a moment of panic, he considered marriage as a way to solve the problem at hand and prevent his deportation. Clarissa was willing to participate in the farce in exchange for compensation."

"I see. Are you suggesting the Court should believe Mr. Steele was not taking advantage of the 'other services' Ms. Jensen offered," Prescott asked, sarcasm infusing each word.

"I'm not suggesting anything," she countered, calmly. "I'm stating emphatically that Mr. Steele never had a sexual relationship, personal or professional, with Clarissa."

"And you base your belief on what?" Prescott challenged.

"His word. It's all I need."

"So you trust him on his word alone," Prescott mocked.

"My husband and I work in a profession where trust is demanded and, in fact, our very lives often depend on it. So, yes, I trust him on his word alone." His questioning paused as a distinct humming could be heard in the courtroom. Castoro reached into his pocket, pulled out a pager, read the display then returned it to his pocket.

"I see you're expecting," Prescott picked back up, changing tact.

"We are."

"Is this your first child?" he continued along this line.

"No, we have a three-year-old daughter as well."

"It seems a rather inconvenient time to take on the care and responsibility for a child who was a stranger to you less than two weeks ago, don't you think?" he posed. Laura raised a hand and dropped it.

"I think it was an inconvenient time for Sophie to lose her mother," she countered, "But as far as taking guardianship of her? No, it's not. She's a sweet, well-behaved child, who our own daughter bonded with immediately. Sophie's a joy to have in our home."

"So she's had no difficulties adjusting to her new surroundings, to living with people she didn't even know a couple weeks ago?" The buzzing sounded again, and once more Castoro looked at his pager, frowning this time.

"It's not the surroundings or us that she is struggling with," Laura dismissed. "She's a small child, who has been exposed to domestic violence in her home while being rejected repeatedly by the man now claiming to be her father. Add to that the horror of her mother being murdered, and yes, she's a traumatized little girl who seldom speaks and has withdrawn into herself. That said, she has attached herself to our daughter, and she is openly seeking comfort and affection from myself and Mr. Steele more often with each passing day."

"No further questions, Your Honor," Prescott announced, clearly frustrated by his inability to ruffle Laura.

"Ms. Abernathy?" McCord prompted.

"No questions, Your Honor. I believe Mrs. Steele's testimony stands as testament to her and Mr. Steele's commitment to provide the child with a warm, nurturing and stable environment."

"You're excused, Mrs. Steele," the Judge ordered as the buzz of Castoro's pager filled the room again.

"Thank you, Your Honor." Stepping down off the witness stand, she returned to her seat. Remington reached for her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"Deputy Chief, if you don't silence that pager, I'll have the bailiff confiscate it," McCord threatened.

"My apologies, Your Honor. There seems to be an emergent situation unfolding." Silencing the pager, he returned it to his pocket again.

"Mr. Prescott, Ms. Abernathy, anything else? If not, I'm prepared to make my ruling," the Judge informed both parties.

"Nothing else, Your Honor," the two attorneys concurred aloud.

"Then in the matter of Castoro versus Laura and Remington Steele, I hereby order a paternity test shall be taken by Deputy Chief Castoro and the minor child, Sophia Alexis Jensen. Given the child's recent loss of her mother and the need to provide her some form of permanent stability, I'll order the test to be expedited. Deputy Chief, Mr. and Mrs. Steele, your counsel can provide you the address and phone number of the lab we utilize. We will reconvene once the test results have been submitted to the Court." She prepared to bang her gavel signifying the end of the session when Prescott launched to his feet.

"Your Honor, my apologies," Prescott blurted out. "My client has asked that I request the Court at least order visitation with his daughter three days a week, with visitation to take place in his home, so that he may help his child through this trying time while trying to mend the strained father-daughter relationship." Abernathy bolted from her seat at this.

"Your Honor, I would strenuously object to any visitation, supervised or unsupervised, being awarded to Mr. Castoro, as any contact with the Plaintiff could be seriously detrimental to the minor child's mental well-being."

"That's preposterous!" Prescott challenged. "Deputy Chief Castoro is a well-respected member of the community and a high-ranking police official. Perhaps he has made a mistake here in there in his approach with the minor child, but to deny a father access to his child goes against the very tenant of family court which recognizes the family unit as sacrosanct!"

" _Not_ ," Abernathy emphasized the word, "When the parent seeking visitation or custody has a history of abusing that child!"

"I have never laid a hand on my child," Castoro bellowed, standing as well. "Yelled at her, yes; threatened to spank her, once or twice. Poor judgement on my part that I deeply regret, but I have never harmed a hair on that child's head."

"Deputy Chief, sit down. Any more outbursts like that, and I'll end this session immediately," McCord reprimanded, before turning a disapproving look on Abernathy. "Ms. Abernathy, you've been in my courtroom often enough to know how I feel about spurious accusations."

"I assure you, Your Honor, I am neither speaking out of turn, nor mudslinging. If I may approach the bench?"

"You may." Abernathy picked up the second cassette tape.

"I'd like to submit to the Court a second audio recording made by Ms. Jensen," she informed the judge.

"Objection!" Prescott dissented. "Once more, California Penal Code 632 expressly forbids—"

"I believe we've already addressed the expectation of privacy, Mr. Prescott. Take your seat please." She eyed Abernathy. "Ms. Abernathy, let's hear what you have."

Remington cringed, Laura visibly shook, and the Judge looked upon Castoro with increased loathing as the tape played. By the time it ended, his own attorney was left speechless and appearing utterly defeated.

"Mr. Prescott, do you have anything you wish to address with the Court?" Abernathy questioned.

"No, Your Honor," he muttered.

"Then, I'm sure this will come as no surprise: The request for visitation is denied." She faced Castoro. "And Deputy Chief, should the paternity test confirm you are the minor child's biological father, be prepared. Until you complete parenting and anger management classes, the child will remain in the Steele's care. I have half a mind to inform your superiors of what we've heard here today: Domestic abuse, attempted sexual assault, child abuse. I imagine they'd have your badge."

"You can't keep my child away from me. Do you—" Castoro began to argue.

"Deputy Chief Castoro, you may 'own this town'," she quoted part of the first tape back to him, "But this is _my_ courtroom. One more outburst by you and I will have you arrested for contempt. Then you can explain that to those you answer to. This Court is adjourned."

She rapped her gavel, then stood and left the courtroom.

Remington extended a hand to Abernathy.

"Thank you, on Sophie's behalf."

"It's my pleasure. If those paternity tests come back proving the man to be her father, we may have an uphill battle in front of us," she forewarned.

"We understand," Laura answered for them both. Remington lay a hand on the small of her back and guided her towards the courtroom exit. "She's safe."

"Aye," he agreed, then thought to add, "Add least for now."

* * *

The phone had rung in the Porsche almost as soon as Remington and Laura had pulled out of the courthouse parking lot. Westfield had wanted to fill them in immediately on the mornings events. All three raids had been successful. Nineteen arrests had been made, fifteen kilos of heroin confiscated before it could reach the streets of LA, more than three hundred marijuana plants were in the process of being destroyed and the chop shop had been put out of business. Interrogations of those arrested would extend well into the weekend if not the early part of the next week.

Remington and Laura picked up the girls from school together that afternoon, and as a celebratory treat, took them to an early showing of the latest Disney feature, then to pizza after. Once the girls were left in the more than capable hands of Mildred and, much to Remington's loathing, her new beau, they'd departed for an evening alone together. They'd taken the boat only a mile out to sea for a bit of privacy and after a light treat of fondue and fresh fruits, followed by a bit of dancing, they took the celebration below deck, making love until they were, at last, fully sated… at least for now. Afterwards, they'd fought off sleep simply to enjoy time with one another, much of that time devoted to Remington focusing his touch on their unborn child as they discussed, often with vigor, whom he or she might take after. It was much needed time alone together after the tension of the past week, and by the time they returned home at midnight, lest their carriage turn into a pumpkin by Mildred's hand, they were both relaxed and optimistic about Castoro's reign soon coming to an end.

The next morning, Olivia and Sophie conspired to drag Remington away from the warmth of his wife's delightful body, so the Saturday morning tradition of breakfast and errands could commence. By eleven-thirty, the picnic basket was packet in the back of the Jeep along with a selection of towels, beach toys, floats, umbrellas and sunscreen. It was only when Remington kept the Jeep moving south on the 405 instead of getting off at exit 52 for Venice Beach that Laura thought to raise a question.

"Where are we going?" she asked. "We passed the exit." She could already taste the cotton candy melting on her tongue and was none too happy to realize it was going to be a while before she could enjoy it.

"To see a house," he answered simply. "Enjoy the scenery. Shouldn't take but fifteen minutes or so for us to arrive." She opened her mouth to press him for more information, but realizing it would be futile, did as he suggested and leaned back in her seat, enjoying the sun on her face, wind in her hair and stunning views of the ocean that were soon stretched out before them. He signaled a right turn onto a long, private drive, and she gasped as a massive, Spanish style two story home came into view. Tank and Dozer parked behind them on the massive drive, then got out of their car to stand sentry should an alarm be sounded by their charges.

"Remington, you can't be serious," she protested, as he put the car into park, but when Meredith, their real estate agent, stepped outside, she knew he was exactly that: Serious. As he helped the girls from their car seats, she balked. "We can't possibly afford this," she announced.

"Of course, we can," he answered, nonchalantly, as though they were discussing the cost of crab legs versus lobster.

"Welcome to Casa Malaga," Meredith announced, when they reached the front door. "The main house has five bedrooms, six baths, a private master suite set away from the remaining four. It's five-thousand-seven-hundred-and-ninety-two square feet, not including the two guest houses outside and sits on a twenty-six-thousand-seven-hundred-forty-three square foot lot, including your own private beach. Take your time looking around and I'll meet you at the second house in an hour. Please remember to lock up behind you." With that, Meredith departed.

It took a full thirty minutes to tour the house and the property outside, and Laura was left speechless by the time they were done. Beyond the five bedrooms, the house featured a home theater, billiards room, a game room which could easily be converted into a playroom for the children, a chef's kitchen, formal and informal living rooms, a dining room, a spacious home office and a studio that was ideal for Laura's dance and Remington's art, as well as soaring ceilings and walls of glass that allowed the sunlight to stream in while not impeding the stunning views. All four guest bedrooms offered a private bath, and two of the bedrooms were adjoined, certainly ideal for the girls right now, as inseparable as they were. The master bedroom was far removed, on the other side of the house from the four guest rooms and sported a large den – or nursery for now, as the case might be – and a large, top of the line bathroom, a walk in closet nearly as large as their current bedroom and already outfitted with organizers, as well as a fireplace and a seating area in the massive bedroom. The ocean views from the room were positively breathtaking, and included the entirety of the Santa Monica Bay and Malaga Cove.

The outside of the home featured a huge deck with firepit – perfect for watching the sunsets – an outdoor kitchen with top of the line appliances and grill, a bar for entertaining, and a custom, saltwater lagoon swimming pool with waterfalls, two slides and a hot tub. A large yard abutted the four-car attached garage, and offered an outdoor volleyball court, a tennis court, and a playset that left the girls staring wide-eyed in awe. A short trip down a gated off stairway landed them on a private beach belonging exclusively to the house.

The duplex guest house, offered two, spacious, one bedroom apartments fully outfitted with top of the line materials and appliances. She could picture Melina's reaction to living in such a place: a little bit of her home in Greece, here in California.

"So, what do you think?" he asked, as they completed their tour and locked up the house behind them.

"it's… incredible," was all she could think of to say. Tugging at her hand until she turned to face him, he circled her hips with his arms.

"As I said, if we must move, it's time to make the dream a reality. We've earned it." She shook her head, still trying to process it all. "And I believe it meets each of the points on your very detailed list of what we'll be needing."

"it does," she admitted a bit breathlessly. "But how can we possibly afford this?"

"Lau-ra," he drew out here name, "Must I really remind you again—" She held up a hand, the words he was about to say still always causing her stomach to flip-flop.

"Don't say it," she insisted.

"Plus, we can buy it for a mere pittance. A divorce sale," he shared. "The sale of the house is standing between the couple and divorced bliss." He offered her a hand into the Jeep. "Alright, up you get. We've still one more to see before we can begin our afternoon of frolicking in sand and sea." As he rounded the back of the Jeep, he signaled to Tank and Dozer they were ready to go. Soon, both Jeep and car pulled back out onto the highway.

Forty-five minutes later, Remington pulled the Jeep into a short driveway of a house located directly on the beach just outside of Malibu, and as in Redondo Beach, Tank parked his car behind him, then he and Dozer stepped out to keep watch.

Unlike the last house, this one boasted modern architecture with its sharp, clean lines. The carbon beach property was situated on nearly three-quarters of an acre with one-hundred-and-thirty feet of private beach front, and featured a three car, attached garage with a carport for extra parking.

"Welcome to the Hideaway," Meredith announced, once more meeting them at the front door. "The house is sixty-eight-hundred-fifty-nine square feet with 5 bedrooms, six baths in the main house and another two bedrooms, two baths in the two guest houses. This is the only tennis court property on the beachfront in or around Malibu and I think the girls will love the koi point," she pointed to the large, manmade pond that was situated along the walkway to the house. The owners have invited you to enjoy the pool and beach this afternoon, if you'd like. I'll leave you to look around, lock up when you leave. I hope to be getting a call from you in the next day or two."

They watched as she departed before beginning their tour of the home. Yet again, they were greeted by soaring ceilings and walls of glass, that offered a panoramic view of the ocean and Santa Monica Bay. The large, central living room featured a floor to ceiling fireplace, more than ample room for both extended guest seating and her piano. The home offered formal and informal dining, chef's kitchen,a home office, home theater, a spacious den that could easily transform into a playroom and a full wine cellar, adjoining a large, open area that could become their studio… and, obscenely in her opinion, and elevator that could be used to move between the two floors of the home. Upstairs, the master bedroom was situation on one side of a catwalk that looked down into the living room, while the remaining four, spacious bedrooms with private baths were located on the opposite end.

The master bedroom, much like the home before, offered a fire place, seating area, floor to ceiling windows with a spectacular ocean view, a large master bath with sauna and two walk-in closets. A private deck outside of the master featured a hot tub, large enough to fit six.

Glass pocket doors in the living room opened up onto a large, elevated deck, which then adjoined two patios – one on either side of the house – one side featuring a pool and hot tub, while the other adjoined the private tennis court. Each guest house offered one bedroom, one bathroom, a living room, dining room, kitchen, and laundry room.

As for the beach? A mere eight steps down from the deck and their feet were sinking into the sand.

Once again, she was left in awe.

"Another divorce?" she speculated.

"Foreclosure, actually," he answered. "A veritable steal, I might add. Pennies on the dollar." He looked down the beach, then back at her. "What do you say, Mrs. Steele. Do you think you might forgo your cotton candy for an afternoon spent on a private beach?" She tilted her head as though giving the matter grave consideration.

"I suppose," she drew out the words, "I could make the sacrifice, just this once. But only if we invite Tank and Dozer to join us." He leaned down and tapped his lips to hers.

"I'm sure that could be arranged," he easily agreed.

In short order, they had towels spread on the sand, umbrellas up, and the party of six was enjoying their lunch as sea gulls flew overhead and the waves roared to shore. After their meal was done and all was cleaned up, Remington, Tank and Dozer took to the water, to play with the girls. Laura laughed helplessly and often, as she watched the two enormous men playing Marco Polo with the two little girls. And, her heart overflowed with love for the tall, slim man who would induce delighted laughter from Livvie as she dove off his shoulders into the water and overjoyed screeches from Sophie when she'd manage to 'dunk' him under the water. From time-to-time, one or both of the girls would join her on the sand, where they would while away time building sandcastles only to knock them down, and in one laughter filled excursion to the shore, she assisted the girls as they buried the large Tank in the sand.

It had been the perfect day, and as Remington had hoped, she couldn't help but daydream of days-and-days on end of afternoons just like this one.

As they pulled out of the drive of the house, Tank and Dozer close on their tail, she reached for Remington's hand. Tangling their fingers together, she closed her eyes, letting the soft, cool breeze lull her to sleep.

She had no idea how long they'd been driving when she was jolted awake and it took her sleep muddled mind a long second to process the girls screaming and sobbing in fear in the back seat, as a dark sedan rammed into the side of the Jeep for the second time. Automatically, her hand grabbed at the roll bar and she turned in her seat, as much as her distended stomach would allow, to see Tank trying to find an opening to place his car between the sedan and Jeep.

Another bone jarring hit by the sedan into the driver side front quarter panel, sent the Jeep swerving to the right, the passenger side tires shoved off the roadway on to the rocky gravel. Remington gave the steering wheel a hard jerk to the left, but the tires on the uneven surface were unable to make purchase, and suddenly the Jeep was spinning, before the back bumper clipped a guard rail, sending it rolling end over end.

Screams, cries, muttered oaths, the sound of metal hitting, scraping against the asphalt; bodies jerking this way and that from the inertia, as though they were rag dolls being shaken by a toddler at play; searing pain shooting up a leg when the dashboard was crushed inwards into the car; the final thud, as the Jeep at last came to rest, underside up; tires spinning, spinning, spinning in the air above…

Followed by absolute silence.


	35. Chapter 34: Rising from the Wreckage

Chapter 34: Rising from the Wreckage

The dark sedan's engine idled on the shoulder of the road ten yards away from where the Jeep had settled on its top after flipping multiple times. Laura gave her rattled head a shake, trying to orient herself when Dozer's booming baritone pierced through the daze.

"I'm coming, Mrs. Steele!" Dozer shouted as he heaved his large frame from the car.

"No, no! Go after them! Don't lose them!" she yelled.

"They ain't goin' no wheres, ma'am," he answered. "Your Jeep clipped them when you was spinnin', and sent their car into a tree right down the ways a bit. Tank'll haul them outta here before the po-po get here. But me? Monroe will be havin' my head, if I don't take care of your family." He crawled around on the ground outside the open passenger side doorway.

"Livvie! Sophie!" she yelled, trying to twist in her seat to see the girls. She took their crying as a good sign. "Remington." She reached out and prodded his arm with her hand. "Remington!" Memories of another time when he was far too still assailed her. She battled back her mounting panic and grasping his arm, shook him, the only response the lolling of his head. "Oh God," she moaned, then when Dozer's face appeared before her, demanded, "Get the girls! Get the girls first!"

"I can't be doin' that just yet, Ma'am. It ain't good for that baby you be carryin' to be caught between the belt as it is," he explained, as her wrapped an arm tightly around the back of her shoulders, then the other around her knees . "Now I need you to release that belt, and we'll get you down real easy like." She fumbled for the release and depressed it, and within seconds found herself sitting on the asphalt outside of the Jeep. Instantly, she scrambled on hands and knees to the back of the Jeep where Livvie was still buckled into her seat.

"Livvie! Baby! Mommy's here," she assured her little girl, trying to reach for her.

"I want my Da!" Livvie wailed. "I want my Da!"

"I need you to be lettin' me in there, Mrs. Steele. You can't be getting' her out in your condition." Regretfully, she moved to the side, fighting the instinct to claw her way past him to get to her daughter. While he worked, she crawled back to the front of the Jeep.

"Remington! Sophie!" She bit down hard on her lower lip and scrunched her face, when Sophie began wailing louder at her name being called, while Remington remained eerily silent. "Sophie, someone will be there to get you in just a second, honey. I promise," she told the little girl, forcing herself to sound calm, confident. She returned her attention to her husband. "Remington! Mr. Steele!"

"Tank," Dozer yelled to his partner, "You 'bout done over there? Them be siren's I'm hearing."

"Out in ten," Tank shouted back, as he slammed the trunk of his car shut. "You got this?"

"I'm cool. Get on outta here now!" He lowered his voice to a soothing tone, as he faced Livvie again. "Alright, Miss Olivia, I'm gonna hug you real tight then real quick like you'll find yourself in your Mama's arms." Wedging an arm between her back and the car seat, he held her tight the released the harness, quickly easing her down and backing out of the car. "Here's your Mama, baby girl," he told her, placing her in Laura's waiting arms.

"What can we do, how can we help?!" came an urgent voice as two college aged men converged on the Jeep having just driven up on the wreck.

"If you could see to the man, I'll be getting the other little girl out right fast," Dozer instructed.

"You got it. Do you know his name?"

"Mr. Steele. Remington Steele," Dozer supplied while rounding the rear of the Jeep to get to Sophie.

"Holy shit!" the man's companion exclaimed. "Isn't he like that detective that's always in the papers?"

Laura ignored the conversation going on around her, kneeling on the ground as she ran her hands over Olivia, checking her for injuries.

"Baby, does it hurt anywhere?" But Olivia was having none of it, trying to shove her mother away.

"I want my Da!" she repeated, tears streaming. From the best Laura could ascertain, the only injury Olivia had sustained was a large spot on her left cheek which promised to develop into a decent bruise.

"The nice men are helping to get Daddy out of the car, just like Dozer did you," Laura assured, pulling the squirming ball of frightened, frustrated child into her arms.

"Mrs. Steele?" She glanced up to see Dozer cradling a hysterical Sophie.

"Oh God, Sophie, come here, honey," she implored shifting Olivia into one arm so she could embrace the child. Feeling the little girl's breath heaving and her heart pounding against her, Laura tucked Olivia next to her side, then began checking Sophie for injury. Blood trickled from the little girl's mouth and a quick check revealed her teeth had sliced into the inside of her lip, probably on impact. But more concerning was the quickly indrawn breath, followed by a wail when her hands grazed over the little girl's left forearm and wrist. "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry," she sympathized, drawing the little girl into her embrace.

"Broke, I think," Dozer assessed, somberly. Laura's faced scrunched up at confirmation of her own thoughts.

"Dozer, can you stay with the girls? Remington…" She left the thought unfinished.

"I'll take good care of them," he agreed, helping her to her feet, then easily lifting both girls into his arms. "It's gonna be alright," he promised. "it's over now." He continued to speak to the girls as Laura rushed around the car where the two volunteers were pulling Remington from the wreckage as two highway patrol cars and an ambulance arrived on the scene.

"Remington," she stroked her hand over his cheek. He remained unmoving. She ran a hand over his head checking for a lump, and her hand came away bloody. She sucked in a swift, sharp breath as the sudden rush of fear-inspired adrenaline coursing through her body sent the baby up under her ribs. "Oh, God. Remington…" she patted him on his cheek. "Mr. Steele!" she called, more demandingly.

"Let's give this a try," the EMT who'd just arrived on the scene suggested, kneeling on the other side of Remington. Snapping a white capsule in two, he held it under Remington's nose. Only a couple of seconds passed, before he began moving his head side-to-side, trying to avoid the noxious odor. His eyes opened as his hand pushed away the offending object.

"Don't you ever do that to me again!" she chastised, vehemently. His blue eyes blinked at her while his murky mind tried to determine what exactly it was that he'd done.

"Do you know your name?" the EMT questioned while flashing a light across Remington's eyes. Again, he reached out a hand to shove the light away.

"Remington Steele," he answered, as his head began to clear. The EMT tried again with the light, only to be once more thwarted.

"Do you know what day it is today?" Remington glared at the man, then patently ignored him as bits and pieces began to return to him.

"The girls? Where are the girls?" he demanded to know, while pushing himself up on his elbows.

"They're with Dozer. Olivia is fine. Frightened, wanting her Da, but other than a bruise on her cheek, I think she escaped unscathed." He winced at the attempt to nod his head.

"And Sophie?" Laura sunk her teeth into her bottom lip before answering.

"Dozer believes her left arm is broken, and I think he's right." Remington muttered a curse under his breath, before his eyes landed on her stomach, and he sat all the way up in alarm as he recalled several years back when a similar accident had left violent bruises on her abdomen and sternum.

"The babe?"

"Fine. We're fine, other than a sore knee where the dashboard hit it."

"How far along are you?" the EMT inquired.

"Thirty-six weeks," she answered, absently. "Do you think you can get up?" she addressed Remington while pressing a hand against his back to assist him.

"Yes, yes. Where are the girls?" he asked gaining his feet, weaving slightly when his head swam and his stomach churned.

"Mr. Steele, Mrs. Steele, you both need to be examined and cleared by a doctor," the EMT insisted.

"Over on the other side of the…. What?!" Laura raised her voice in surprise when the EMT's words registered. "Me?! Why me?! _I'm fine!"_

"Were you wearing your seat belt?" the man persisted.

"Of course, I was. As I said, I have not a scratch other than a bruised knee."

"An accident, especially one like this, is extremely traumatic. Risks accompanying such an event include elevated blood pressure and the onset of labor." She cursed inwardly as Remington's back stiffened when the memory of those bruises flashed though his head again.

"Rem—" she tried to cut him off at the pass and failed.

"You're getting checked out, Laura," he told her adamantly.

" _I'm fine,_ " she insisted again.

"That's our _child_ ," he pointed at her stomach. _Damn_ , she cursed again. He'd pulled the ace and knew it. "Hard-headed though you may be, you _will_ be getting checked out." She crossed her arms and her chin moved up a notch.

"Fine, but I'm not getting in an ambulance," she told him, planting her feet.

"Planning on showing a bit of leg, then, eh? Or is to be the thumb?" he retorted.

"I'm beginning to think your brain was scrambled in the crash, Mr. Steele. What are you _talking about?_ "

"In case you haven't noticed, the Jeep is in no condition to take us anywhere," he pointed out, throwing his hand in the direction of their totaled vehicle. "So absent that ambulance, how do you plan to get to the hospital?"

"Oh, for God's sake," she bit out, pushing past him to go see the girls.

"Mr. and Mrs. Steele? I have a few questions about the acci—"

"Not now!" Remington barked, striding right past the Highway Patrol officer.

"How can I help you?" Laura asked, coming to a stop in front of the man.

"Fill me in on what happened, to start." Laura took a deep breath, widened her eyes and lifted her hands then dropped them.

"Kids, racing would be my guess. One minute we're driving on a nearly deserted road, enjoying the end of our day, and the next a car's trying to pass us, but clips us." She looked back over her shoulder at the Jeep. "You can see what happened from there."

"Any idea what happened to the occupants of the other car?"

"Occupant," Dozer interjected. Laura looked up in surprise, when she saw him standing behind the Patrolman. "One. He ditched the car and split in the other." The officer's eyes scanned the scene before he turned and addressed Dozer.

"You're a witness?"

"Somethin' like that."

"He's a family friend," Laura stepped in. "We were enjoying an afternoon at the beach, just outside of Malibu."

"My brother and me was in our car, driving behind them," Dozer clarified further. The patrolman looked up from where he was scribbling in a pad.

"I'll need to speak with your brother, as well."

"Can't," Dozer refused. "He took off after them when they split."

"If you don't mind, officer, that's all we can tell you and we won't be filing an insurance claim. I need to see to my family," Laura excused herself. "Dozer, do you think you can get the car seats out of the Jeep?"

"Sure thing."

She found Remington stooping in front of Sophie, giving her the once over while speaking quietly to her and holding Olivia, who'd wrapped herself around him. Remington's eyes darted over Laura's shoulder, his brows raising in surprise. Turning around to look behind her, she witnessed Monroe climbing out of Jocelyn's mini-van. Her lips lifted in a smile.

"Tank," she speculated to Remington. He nodded his head in agreement, then returned his attention to Sophie.

"Sophie girl, you and Laura are going to take a little ride together in that ambulance, right over there," he pointed to the vehicle.

"No, we're not," Laura contradicted.

"Haven't we already traveled this road?" Irritation flashed through his blue eyes. She held up a hand.

"Monroe can drop _all of us_ at the hospital, and Fred can pick us up after. If Sophie and I are getting checked out, so are you. You may need stitches in that equally hard head of yours." He sent Monroe a quelling looking when his old friend laughed.

"Don't be ridiculous, it's a mere scratch," he brushed off, drawing a glare from her as she planted hands on hips. Monroe stood back watching the by-play his lips twisting with an amused smile.

"A c-note on the missus," Dozer offered, pausing next to Monroe's side on the way to the van with a car seat.

"Only a fool would wager elsewise," Monroe declined. Dozer nodded his agreement and continued on to the van.

"Last time I checked, a 'mere scratch' doesn't render someone unconscious," she rebutted. Remington stood up, Olivia still in his arms, panicking for a moment when the ground shifted beneath his feet. A sure way to lose this argument was by landing on his arse on the pavement.

"I seem to recall a time or twenty when I took much more serious blows to my person, only for you to treat me as a lad in knickers carrying on over a skinned knee," he argued. "What say we keep with tradition, hmmm?"

"Alright," she answered, in far too an agreeable voice. "I'm suddenly feeling a bit nostalgic myself," she smiled, oh so sweetly at him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he eyed her warily.

"Oh, how so?" he dared to ask.

"There's another tradition that was four years in the making, if I recall. I'm sure you won't mind keeping with it as well." He blanched visibly at what she was intimating while Monroe guffawed beside him. "Come along, Sophie. Let's get you in your car seat." Taking the little girl by the hand, she led her to the van while Remington stared at her departing figure.

"You're losing your touch, my old friend," Monroe observed, giving Remington a bone jarring slap on the shoulder and laughing openly at him. "Even a blind man would have seen he was walking a dangerous path. Shall we be on our way? The evening grows long before us."

"Yes, yes, of course," he answered absently as he mulled the implications of what Laura had said. Her specific reference of four years might only mean he'd be reacquainting himself, painfully so, with the art of celibacy. _Only!_ he mocked himself silently. But given she'd not so much as looked his way as he buckled Olivia in to her car seat, he had a sinking feeling she meant he'd be returning to the long, lonely nights when he had only his dreams of her sleeping by his side to keep him company. Drawing in a long breath and letting it out slowly, he relegated himself to the fact that he'd shortly be sitting upon an examination table in the emergency ward, being poked and prodded at. _Bloody hell._

The trip to Cedars was made in relative silence, as Olivia and Sophie dozed in their car seats, and Laura stared out the window, silently observing the passing scenery. When they arrived at the hospital, Monroe pulled Remington briefly aside.

"Tank, Rocky and Bull have your attackers under their watchful eyes. How do you wish to proceed, Mick?" Remington rubbed his hand against the back of his neck as he considered the question. What he wanted to say was 'torture the sodding bastards until you know the name of their grandparent's grandparents. What he said instead was…

"We're not the bloody thirsty sort, are we, mate? Find out what you can within reason then set the buggers loose," he sighed, clearly frustrated.

"I am glad you once again came out with the winning hand, mon ami," Monroe told him, holding out a hand. Remington grasped it in his.

"And Castoro will find he won't have another chance to make me quit the table," Remington answered.

"I will let you know when I have what you've requested." Monroe released his hand, and got back in the van, telling Dozer in only a nod what was to be done.

"We'll take care of it."

* * *

"What do you mean Farrell and Hopkins are missing?" Castoro demanded to know, slamming his palm down on his desktop.

"According to the CHP, the Steele's Jeep and an abandoned, older model, black Olds were towed from the site," the tall, wide shoulder blonde in his thirties relayed. "They haven't checked in." Castoro stepped out from behind his desk to pour himself a drink at the wet bar in his office.

"And the kid, the Steele's?"

"Alive, all of them."

"God damn it," Castoro roared. "Do I have to do it myself to get it right? First those two morons let the brat get away, and now they can't even handle a convenient accident?!" Castoro paced some more, then tossed back the rest of his drink, before sitting at his desk again. "They've become a liability. You know what to do," he ordered.

"Yes, sir. I'll get it done."

Castoro watched the younger man leave the room, closing the door behind him. Leaning back on the chair and propping his feet on a corner of his desk, he stewed. The prior day things had gone from bad to worse inside of twelve hours. First, he'd not only come out of Court without the brat under his control, but those tapes. Those fucking tapes. He hadn't thought Clarissa intelligent enough, let alone capable of such duplicity, as to record their conversations. Two tapes. Months apart. What else had she recorded? Even more importantly, what else did the Steele's have in their hands?

Then, four of his operations had been raided. First, the boat on Thursday night, and three more while he'd been in court. In a flash, he'd lost millions of dollars worth of product and some of his top men. Even now Enrique and Charlie sat in a jail cell. They were smart enough to keep their mouths shut and he'd make it a point to distance himself from them by making certain the LAPD was on record as conducting an investigation into the matter and intended to throw the book at the crooked cops.

Then, to add insult to injury, his home and office had been infiltrated. He'd left the listening and video devices where they'd been planted… except for his home office. It had been swept clean

He wasn't a man who believed in coincidences. Those tapes. Operations that had taken years to build… gone. Home and office bugged. No, the Steele's knew something and so did the kid. He'd be willing to bet all he had that the former were responsible for those raids. Their reputation of being two of the best investigative minds in the country, possibly worldwide, existed for a reason. They were connecting dots, and needed to be erased before he was exposed.


	36. Chapter 35: Exodus

Chapter 35: Exodus

" _We're fine_ ," Laura said, insistently, drawing out each word for emphasis.

"Dr. Kerr said it's just a precaution," Remington reminded her. "He'd like to see the babe come down a bit before he sends you home." She puffed out a resigned breath. Like it or not, she'd been checked into the hospital for observation. Had it been herself Kerr had been concerned about, she'd have adamantly resisted being admitted, even if only overnight. But given it had been their child…

When they'd arrived at the hospital, he'd folded his hand and had signed himself in, then, for good measure, Olivia as well. With the exception of the contusion on her cheek, and more than a bit of a scare, as Laura had thought, their child, thankfully, had managed to emerge relatively unscathed. Sophie, on the other hand, has not fared as well, x-rays confirming a fractured ulna near the wrist. She'd been partially sedated in order to set the arm, and had left the hospital in Thomas's arms, sound asleep. As for Remington, he'd refused the four recommended stitches – surrender and be seen in the emergency ward he might have had little choice in, but to endure Laura's superior smirks, and be told who knows how many times in the years to come that she'd 'told him so' was simply beyond the pale. He'd endured the concussion lecture with a smile, and had praised the angels above when Kerr had agreed not to admit him for observation as he'd be staying with Laura overnight and help would be close at hand should he suffer some consequence from the injury.

"The girls and I need to leave." He picked up her hand and pressed is lips against her knuckles.

"The girls are already gone." She looked at him in surprise.

"What? What do you mean?" He placed his other hand over their joined ones and patted hers.

"I imagine Fred should be arriving in Twin Pines any time now… with Father, Catherine and the girls. Tank and Dozer volunteered to remain out at the cabins as long as it takes for us to finish this." She shook her head, confused.

"But why? Why tonight?"

"I didn't want to risk another 'accident', especially given neither of us would be there should anything happen," he explained. She examined his face at length, then shook her head.

"You wanted to be sure I'd go," she surmised, the accuracy of her suspicion confirmed by the contrition on his face.

"I need the four of you," he lay his hand on her stomach, "To be safe. Your first instinct is to stand and fight. The time for fighting is over now. Castoro's playing for keeps." He pressed his cheek against their hands. "We could have lost everything that truly matters today."

"Come, lay with me," she requested. He went gladly, removing his shoes, then joining her on the bed, spooning his front to her back, his hand seeking out the skin of her rounded stomach. He found he resented the strap wrapped around her stomach, which prevented unimpeded access to their child. But so long as they continued to hear the strong thrum-thrum-thrum of their child's heartbeat, echoing in the room around them, it was an inconvenience he would bear with some measure of relief. "I wasn't going to fight you on this, Remington," she voiced in the quiet room. She waited until she felt the fast, grateful nod of his head against the top of hers. "Which is why I called Murphy as you were helping Thomas and Catherine take the girls to the limo." Out of nowhere, old resentments, insecurities raged to the surface. He stiffened behind her.

"I thought we were long past the days when you believed me incapable of handling a case on my own," he commented, tersely. Her brows drew together.

"Remington, don't," she admonished softly. "Don't do that. This has nothing to do with me believing you're incapable. If I can't be here to watch your back, to make sure you come home safely, there's only one person I trust nearly as much as myself to make that happen. Brandon, Zack, they're good… very good, actually. But I'm not ready to place your life in their hands. Not yet." She felt him relax behind her.

"How much have you told him?"

"Not much," she admitted. There hadn't been time. She hadn't chanced Remington returning to the room to find her on the phone. She'd needed to tell him in her own time what she'd done. "That we're in the middle of a complicated case, an attempt was made on our lives today and I needed to take the girls somewhere safe until it was over. You can catch him up when he gets here."

"And when will that be?"

"He's taking the first flight out of Denver in the morning, so I'd guess mid-morning," she shrugged a shoulder. "I told him he could stay at the house, so he'll drive directly there." She lay her hand over his where it rested on her stomach.

"You'll be leaving directly from here when you're released tomorrow." Her eyes widened in surprise. "I won't risk Castoro's men following you from the house. I don't imagine they'll anticipate you disappearing from here."

"I need to pack," she protested.

"Mildred and Catherine packed up all the girls will need. Jocelyn pitched in and packed for you, with a few suggestions by myself. All will be at the cabins when you arrive."

"Cabins?" she emphasized the plural.

"Mmmmm. Father and Catherine have volunteered to take this sojourn with you and the children." She lifted her brows in surprise.

"Really? Do they understand how rustic Billie's retreat is?" she wondered.

"Honestly, Laura, you're beginning to sound like me," he teased, lightly. "Born to privilege they may have been, but bear in mind that Father and Catherine are very hand's on when to comes to the breeding operation in their stables."

"That is true," she acknowledged. "Still…"

"As Father so aptly pointed out, he and Catherine arrived six weeks prior to our child's birth to spend time with Olivia. They'd be hard pressed to do that with her hidden off in the woods somewhere." The corner of his mouth twitched up in a smile, knowing his next comment would vex her. "Besides, Father's presence will assure you and the girls don't subsist on yogurt, sandwiches and what you optimistically refer to as a salad alone." He grunted when her elbow came in contact with his abdomen, then laughed low in his throat.

"My abilities in the kitchen extend far beyond that these days," she scolded, suppressing her own laugh.

"Ah, yes, you make a bowl of cold cereal with panache," he complimented.

"I boil a mean hotdog," she pointed out, proudly.

"You've become quite adept at heating a can of soup," he added.

"Not to mention warming up spaghetti-o's."

"Yet still can't make an edible piece of toast," he deadpanned. This time, her helpless laughter bubbled over. When he leaned down+ and brushed his lips over the skin of her collarbone partially bared by the gown, she sobered.

"It was the tapes," she announced, succinctly.

"What do you mean?" She let out a long breath.

"I overplayed our hand, _that's_ what I mean," she asserted. "If the raids had happened absent the tapes, or the tapes absent the raids…" She blew out a frustrated breath. "Instead of protecting Sophie, by giving Abernathy those tapes, I put a target on our backs." His hand departed her stomach to rub her arm briskly.

"Laura, you can't blame yourself for actions of a deranged man," he soothed.

"I hate this," she lamented. "I hate that Olivia's going to be heartbroken, not seeing you every day. I hate that you're going to miss out on a minute of this pregnancy." She reached for the hand on her stomach, weaving their fingers together. "That I won't be here to watch your back, to do my job."

"I can't imagine it will be for long. I'll call Livvie each night before she goes to bed. You each night before I go to bed." Releasing her hand, he touched a finger to her jaw until she turned to look at him. "Just imagine…" he waggled his brows at her "…the possibilities." She smirked up at him.

"You really are waxing nostalgic today, aren't you, Mr. Steele?" she teased. "I had no idea you were secretly harboring fantasies of returning to the days when sexual frustration, cold showers and an empty bed were the norm."

"Ahhh, but just think of the reunion," he whispered, leaning down and covering her lips with his. The kiss was soft and slow, meant to stir the imagination. Her lips lifted in a smile under his as she reached between them to cup then caress him. He groaned low in his throat, and ending the kiss, shifted his hips away from her talented little hand. Grasping it in his he pressed a kiss into the palm, released it. " _That_ will do neither of us a bit of good at the moment, ma mhuirnín." She laughed softly.

"Just a preview, Mr. Steele. Just a preview." He snuggled back up against her and found her stomach again.

"Laura…"

"Hmmm?" she hummed the question, closing her eyes as his fingers began to trace patterns over her stomach again.

"Monroe will be providing us mobile phones in the morning," he shared. "I don't think it would be wise for you to call the house, office or anyone easily connected to us."

"You think he might have our phones tapped?"

"If he's connected us to recent events, it's not out of the realm of possibility, is it?" he posed. Her brows furrowed thoughtfully.

"No, it's not," she agreed, then yawned heartily. "And I imagine he probably has a contact within the phone company willing to share our call history."

"Mmm," he hummed his agreement. "And I thought we'd opened a Pandora's box with the Shane case," he murmured contemplatively.

They fell silent, Laura concentrating on the touch of his fingers, his warmth, his scent surrounding her until the comforting familiarity lulled her to sleep. He gathered her closer, closing his eyes, while listening to the steady beat of their child's heart, dreading saying goodbye to her in the morning.

* * *

Remington pried his heavy lids open, uncertain what had pulled him from his dreams. Then he felt it: the rippling of Laura's stomach as their child rolled and moved throughout her womb. Her hand glided down his arm, then rested atop his hand.

"It's seems Baby Steele has finally decided to come down from her temporary roost," he whispered quietly in the darkened room, the baby's heart rate beating faster as it moved again.

" _He_ has," she agreed, sleepily, wriggling more snuggly against him, then returning to her dreams.

* * *

Laura brooded the majority of the drive to Twin Pines. At least Remington hadn't tried to fight her on driving herself, although she'd been prepared to do battle. Instead, she been simultaneously surprised and pleased when he'd walked her to a white, Ford Explorer waiting in the visitor parking lot. She was not, however, shocked to find Rocky and Bull sitting a car idling next to the Explorer.

"Are they staying at the cabins as well?" she wondered, lifting her inquisitive brown eyes to meet his regretful blue ones.

"Merely taking a leisurely Sunday drive," he answered, lifting a fall of hair over her shoulder, before guiding her towards the driver side where they might find a bit of privacy. "I spoke with Billie briefly this morning when I stepped out to get breakfast," he filled her in. "She'll have the name of an orthopedist for Sophia by the time you arrive, and she knows a small dance school in town so Livvie can keep up with her lessons." She grimaced as she recalled a rather large detail they'd both overlooked.

"I have a doctor's appointment Friday," she reminded him.

"This may well be over by then. Let's see what happens, hmmmm?" he suggested. Instead of making her feel better, she grimaced.

"The Valentine's Day party," she drew out each word regretfully. "It's Thursday. Livvie and Sophie will be crushed if they miss it!" A side of his lips quirked upwards and he pulled her into his embrace to buss her on the forehead before fully embracing her.

"Then we'll have a party at for their entire class after this is over." He couldn't help but be concerned all that was out of her control at the moment would conspire to drive her anxiety into the stratosphere. "Laura, everything's going to be okay." She let out a puff of breath, then nodded her head against his chest.

"I know. It's just—"

"It goes against your grain to cut and run," he finished the thought for her. "I know. But bear in mind you've a far more weighty job resting on your shoulders than I do my own: Keeping our family safe for us." She lifted her head and leaned back to see him better.

"I want our life back." He cupped her face with a hand, and gazed down at her intently.

"We will," he vowed. Sliding his hand to the back of her neck, he drew her lips to his. He kissed her ardently, telling her how very much she'd be missed, and she reciprocated in turn. His eyes burned bright and hers were kissed dazed when their lips drew apart. She reached up and swept back that stubborn lock of hair.

"Stay safe for me."

"Keep our family safe for me," he requested in turn. He leaned down and touched his lips to hers one last time, then, releasing her, swung open the driver's side door. "Off you get."

She hadn't looked back as she pulled out of that parking space. She simply couldn't. She'd spent the first hour of the drive allowing her anger to simmer and burn. Anger at the situation, fury with Castoro. The last half of the drive, she worried. Worried about how Remington's absence would affect Livvie. Worried about how Sophie would react to yet another trauma. Worried about how Thomas and Catherine would fare in such rustic conditions; how they'd neglected the Agency during their pursuit of Castoro; if their fleeing would pose problems with the Court; if Remington could work effectively with William; how Remington would fare with Murphy partnering him. Then worried if she'd somehow had become _that_ woman. You know, that woman who needed a man by her side to stand strong, to feel complete… who saw herself as a wife first, and all else second, third and last. A thought which triggered her irritation again, although this time it was directed square at herself.

All those thoughts, however, dissipated, as she pulled into Billie's fishing camp and saw Livvie and Sophie playing hide and seek with Catherine. Livvie spied her first as she climbed out of the unfamiliar vehicle.

"Mommy!" Olivia screeched, abandoning the game and streaking towards her. Laura stooped down then absorbed the blow as the little body came into contact with hers.

"Hi, baby," she greeted, hugging her little girl tight, before leaning back and examining the bruise on her cheek. "Well, aren't you colorful!" she exclaimed, forcing a smile onto her face, and pressing a kiss to the deep blue mark.

"I've got a boos," Livvie announced, proudly.

"You _have_ a _bruise_ ," Laura corrected gently. "And yes, you do." Olivia placed a hand on each of Laura's cheeks, as Laura watched Sophie start to run in her direction, then hesitate.

"Do _you_ have a blues?" Livvie asked somberly.

"I do," she nodded her head, and widened her eyes dramatically. She shifted Livvie into a single arm and pointed at her knee. "Right here." Olivia's eyes rounded, then she leaned down to place a kiss on it, much as Laura had her own. Then the little girl pushed away and was off, running around to the other side of the car.

"Sophie," she called the child's name softly and held open her arms to the little girl. A flash of uncertainty on the little girl's face was quickly replaced by a bright smile as she came running.

"Let me look at you," Laura requested, after she released the little girl from a long hug. Her eyes moved over the little girl's face, then bared arms, until they came to rest upon the pink cast that appeared so weighty on such a tiny limb. "Oh, Soph," she crooned, then stroked the side of Sophie's head. "How do you feel, baby? Does your arm hurt?"

"Granddad and Grans colored on it," Sophie pointed out proudly. Laura bestowed her with a bright smile, translating her answer to mean it was not bothering her.

"I see that." Her eyes sought out Catherine, before returning to the signatures on the cast. "If it's okay with you, I'd like to color on it myself later." Sophie nodded her head eagerly, as Laura's attention was drawn to the sound of banging on the other side of the SUV.

"Da!" Olivia called out. "Daaaaaaaaa!" she elongated his name as though trying to get his attention. Laura stood on her feet slowly and a bit awkwardly, then automatically took Sophie's hand and walked with her around the truck.

"Livvie Bee, Da isn't here," Laura told their daughter. Livvie tilted her head and gave her a perplexed look, then returned to slapping her hand against the door.

"Da! Wake up!" she called again, then grabbed the door handle to try to climb up the side of the truck and peer in. Laura nibbled on her lip, as understanding dawned. In the entirety of Olivia's life, whenever she had gone on a trip, her Mommy and Da had been there without fail. Therefore, her Da should be there now. Releasing Sophie's hand, Laura caught Olivia around the waist and eased her away from the truck, before opening the door and helping the little girl crawl up and in, to see for herself Remington was not sleeping away inside. Livvie turned a crestfallen face to Laura. "I want Da!" Laura lifted her down, and closed the vehicle's door.

"So do I, baby, so do I," she assured her, stooping down to speak to her at eye level again. "But Da had to stay at home and work. He said to tell you he will call you _every night_ before bedtime."

"I want my Da!" the three-year-old wailed, leaving her mother standing there feeling utterly helpless.

* * *

"So, where are we?" Remington asked into the phone, popping a slice of kiwi into his mouth, then slicing up the remainder of the fruit.

"Not much more than name, rank and serial number," Monroe answered. "I'm afraid, mon ami, they fear the reach of Castoro far more than whatever my men might have had in mind for them."

"The attack on Clarissa?"

"Pled innocence, both participation in or knowledge of," Monroe relayed the unsurprising news.

"I suppose they denied the attempt on our lives yesterday as well, then?" Remington pressed.

"Merely were a bit overexuberant in their driving, enjoying the challenge of the road," Monroe confirmed.

"So, what did we learn?" he demanded to know.

"Timothy Farrell, Aaron Hopkins. Partners. Work robbery homicide. That is all." Remington rubbed a hand over his face as he paced away from the prep counter.

"The car will have been stolen, of course," he thought aloud. "Elsewise the Highway Patrol would be able to link the accident to them." He shook his head. "At least we may know the identity of Clarissa's second assailant. I'll have Bernice obtain this…" he gesticulated with a hand, "…. Hopkin's photograph and have her add it to the photo line-up. If we've not shut Castoro down by them, I'll show it to Sophie this weekend when I visit."

"I am hearing rumors, old friend, that Laura and yourself are considering taking this child on, quite permanently."

"What?" Remington asked before he fully digested the question. "Hmmm, no. Not considering it at all. We've already decided we'll raise Sophie as our own, should the Court see fit."

"Trying to keep pace with myself and Jocelyn, Mick?" Remington laughed at the notion.

"No, no. We'd quite decided on no more than two, but providence has seen fit that it should be three, it would seem." Unseen he gave a shrug of a shoulder, as he removed the quiche from the oven. Closing the over door, he turned it down to allow the croissants to finish baking. "Sophie needs a family, one Laura and I are happy to provide." The conversation reminded him of a matter with Jocelyn that needed to be attended to. He filled Monroe in on Laura's idea for a foundation and their hopes Melina and Jocelyn would be interested in handling the day-to-day operation of the venture.

"I will speak with her, old friend. She has been looking for a worthwhile endeavor to fill her days and I believe she'll be enamored with this idea." Remington glanced up from the plates he was garnishing when the doorbell peeled.

"It would appear Michaels has arrived," Remington noted. "We'll speak soon."

"Until then," Monroe acknowledged.

Remington disconnected the line, then tossed a dishtowel over his shoulder while walking towards the front door, even as the bell rang again.

"Coming, coming," he called out. Stepping into the entryway, he swung open the front door.

"Michaels," he greeted, holding out a hand.

"Steele," Murphy responded, as they exchanged handshakes. He resisted the urge to close his eye and breathe deep of the heavenly aroma coming from the kitchen. Certainly one of the perks of visiting or assisting Remington and Laura were the incredible concoctions his former nemesis created in that kitchen of his.

"Make yourself at home," Remington offered. "Your room is upstairs, turn right then last door on the left. Should Lina have left any belongings behind, don't mind them. She's not due to return for a bit more than two weeks." Murphy nodded, dropping his garment bag, overnight bag and suitcase on the entry way floor. "In the meantime, I whipped us up a bit of brunch, nothing fancy."

"What's on the menu?" Murph asked.

"Bell pepper and herbed quiche, an assortment of fruit, fresh croissants, orange juice and your choice, coffee or tea," Remington rambled off.

"Nothing fancy," Murphy guffawed. "Only you, Steele."

"Since the girls and Laura aren't here to enjoy it, someone may as well," Remington pointed out, brushing off the backhanded compliment.

"Laura didn't have a chance to get into the details. How are they?" Remington rubbed at his mouth with his hand

"As well as can be expected, I suppose." He continued speaking as he washed his hands, and began slicing the quiche and placing healthy servings on each plate. "Olivia, thankfully, is none the worse for wear, excepting a bruise on her cheek. The babe and Laura were given a clean bill of health this morning. Sophie suffered the worst of it with her broken arm, but it will heal. It certainly could have been far worse… for all of us." He set the plates down at two seats on the dining room table, then returned to the kitchen. "Coffee or tea."

"Coffee, please, black," Murphy requested, then waited until they were both seated and eating before pressing for information. "So fill me in, from the beginning."

"It began the night of Laura's party, with Sophia's arrival…"

Remington filled Murphy in on all the events to date, including Westfield's involvement, the task force, raids and, of course, on the assault on their family the day prior. At the end of the tale, Murphy whistled low, emphasizing his disbelief.

"I've gotta tell you, Steele, I was shocked when Laura told me she was willingly going into hiding with the girls," he commented. Remington laughed low in his throat and leaned back in his chair.

"Oh, I don't know how 'willingly' it was. If she weren't with child, she'd have fought me to her last breath." It was Murphy's turn to laugh.

"Stubborn to the core," he summed up.

"Part of her charm," Remington smiled. "But, in hiding or not—" He stopped speaking abruptly when the mobile phone on the living room coffee table began to ring, making his heart drop to his toes. "Excuse me." He strode across dining and living room, grabbing the phone and answering it. "What is it? What's wrong?" he answered, barking out the questions. Hearing Olivia crying in the background, he quickly added, "Has something happened to Livvie?"

"Everything's fine," she assured him, then amended, with a sardonic undertone, "Although not necessarily from Olivia's point of view."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"She's confused… upset." She blew out a short breath into the phone. "She doesn't understand why you're not here with us. She needs to talk to you. She needs some reassurances." He nodded his head, fighting back his rising temper that Castoro had imposed this upon them, their little girl.

"By all means," he easily agreed, his face softening as he heard Laura encouraging Olivia to take the phone.

"Hello?" she sniffed, her voice wet with tears.

"Ah, a stor, having a difficult time of it, are we?" he asked gently.

"I want you, Da," she beseeched. Remington closed his eyes, grimacing at the sound of her angst.

"Livvie Bee, there's no place else Da wishes to be than there with you, Sophie and your Mommy, but for right now, Da has to stay here at home and work," he attempted to explain to his forlorn daughter.

"But _I want you_ , Da," she repeated, edging closer to another round of tears.

"You've made that quite clear," he confirmed. "But it's very, very important that Da stays here right now."

"I wanna go home," she wailed.

"And miss out on all the fun you'll have with Granddad and Grans?" he questioned, even as his heart tugged at him. "I don't believe that. I think you're just a wee bit sad for the moment, but it will pass." The only answer was several sniffles. "Livvie, how much does your Da love you?"

"More than the moon and the stars," she repeated back the expression he and Laura so often used with her.

"Indeed, I do. I'll call you each night before you go to bed, so we will both have happy dreams, hmmm?" Sniffle filled silence greeted him again. He searched for the words that would soothe her, while dragging a hand through his hair. "I promise, a stor, should Da's work not be finished in a few days, I'll come visit and we'll make breakfast in the morning together, as we always do."

"You promise?" she asked in a small voice after a couple of seconds hesitation.

"I do," he solemnly vowed. "And Da has never broken a promise he's made you, now has he?"

"No," she confirmed, the sniffles abating.

"Now, will you do something for me, Livvie Bee? Will you put a smile on your pretty face so that neither Mommy nor Sophia become sad as well?"

"Okay," she agreed in a small voice before all he heard was rustling. Laura's voice returned to the line.

"What did you say to her?" she inquired.

"I merely promised if my work's not finished by the weekend, I'll be there and we'll make breakfast together as we've always done," he filled her in.

"Has Murph arrived?" Remington's eyes slanted towards the man himself, then away again as he nodded his head.

"A bit ago, actually. I was just bringing him up to speed over brunch."

"I'll let you get back to it, then. And make sure you tell Murphy I said…" His warm laughter filled the room.

He was still smiling when he rejoined Murphy at the table.

"It's seems a crisis has been averted," Murphy observed.

"It has. Much like her mother, Livvie can get a bit out of sorts when she feels her world is outside of her control," he remarked thoughtfully, while thinking he'd be sharing that bit of insight on their daughter with Laura. "And speaking of Laura, she's requested I pass along a message to you."

"She did, did she?"

"She said should you not prevent me from doing something- 'hairbrained', I believe was her choice of words- that you and she would being going to the mattresses."

"'Going to the—'".

" _The Godfather_. Al Pacino, Marlon Brando, James Caan, Paramount, 1972. The aging patriarch of—"

"I know the movie and the expression, Steele," Murphy broke in. Remington lifted a shoulder and dropped.

"The context might be not quite what she believed, but what truly matters is she got the citation correct," he grinned.

"it may have taken a few years, but you finally lured her fully over to the dark side," Murphy rued.

" _Star War_ —" Murphy held up a hand as he stood.

"Save it, Steele." He picked up his plate and glass. "Any idea where to go from here?" Remington stood and cleared his own place setting, then stationed himself in front of the sink.

"Graham and Warmack will work with Finegold's system installation whilst Burton and Celek will tail Farrell and Hopkins. You and I will report to the command center in the morning," he turned and lifted a brow at Laura's former partner, " _After_ Laura gives you and I our marching orders.'

"Laura?"

"I made certain copies of all the file were packed for her. Laura's mind, left unchallenged, breeds fertile ground for her active imagination and I've found, over the years, that's _never_ a good thing."


	37. Chapter 36: Duplicities

Chapter 36: Duplicities

 _Sunday, February 10_

"Hello, love," Remington greeted as he settled back against the pillows.

"Hello, yourself, big guy," Laura smiled.

"Ah, Laura," he murmured appreciatively, "Should I assume such a reference means you're going to fulfill a fantasy of mine?"

"And what fantasy would that be?" she asked coyly.

"A little seduction via the phone lines?"

"Reach out and touch you, so to speak?" she teased.

"Mmmmm hmmmmm," he hummed appreciatively.

"And how would I do that?" she teased.

"In the words of that song I woke nearly daily to for a year, thanks to your pals Norm and Bud, 'Talk dirty to me'," he suggested in a rumbling voice.

"Diapers, dishes, laundry, jokes, feet—" He frowned, then when enlightenment came, barked a laugh.

"You're a cruel woman, Mrs. Steele," he accused, as she smiled, pleased with herself.

"Merely protecting you from yourself, Mr. Steele." The comment made a memory dance through his mind, drawing his lips upwards in a smile.

"Familiar words," he noted, reminding her of that day six year before.

* * *

 _ **"You're supposed to say that I'm everything he's supposed to be and more."**_

 _ **"If I said that, it would go to your head. Then you would cease to be what I just said you were."**_

 _ **"Thank you, Miss Holt… for protecting me from myself."**_

" _ **Anytime, Mr. Steele."**_

* * *

"I never thought I'd miss DesCoine," she answered, thoughtfully.

"Bite your tongue, Laura."

"Well, it's true," she defended. " _He_ never forced us into hiding."

"Merely planned for me to spend the rest of my days behind bars," he pointed out. "Unless of course, he secretly had a stimulating acid bath in mind for me." She frowned at the thought.

"I don't know if 'stimulating' is the word I choose to describe—"

"How's the babe?" She smiled and stroked a hand over her stomach.

"Baby Steele has been somersaulting against my bladder all day," she relayed.

"Truly good news," he grinned.

"It's not _your_ bladder," she groused good naturedly.

"The girls?"

"Sound asleep, thanks in large part to Billie's promise to take them fishing tomorrow morning." Her fingers plucked absently at a button on her nightshirt of the evening. "Speaking of sleep, any idea how Jocelyn knew to pack what she did?" She'd found three of his shirts tucked into the second of her suitcases. While she'd never admit as much to him, when she'd found the Castoro files in the first suitcase and enough clothes to meet her needs, she hadn't even opened the second case until that morning. On the other end of the line, he tugged at an ear.

"I merely made a suggestion of a couple of items that should be included," he admitted.

"I thought that might be the case." She turned her face into the collar of his white dress shirt she was wearing and inhaled his scent. "Speaking of which, I was reading through the files tonight. In Clarissa's log, Mr. Steele, there are four individuals we need focus on identifying."

"Onto something, are you?"

"I'm not sure yet…"

* * *

 _Monday, February 11_

"Alright, girls," Laura announced. "Teeth brushed, then we'll get ready to leave. The three of us and Grans are going to take a trip to town." Two pairs of eyes – one green and one blue – lit up, and two little heads nodded eagerly. In an instant, both girls were running out the door towards their cabin next door under the watchful eyes of Dozen and Tank who'd chosen to eat outside. "Thomas, are you sure you don't want to come with us?"

"I've several calls I need to make before it gets too late, and then, I believe, I'd like to take a long walk, commune with nature for a spell," Thomas declined.

"Alright. Then we'll see you in a few hours. Catherine, we'll leave in twenty minutes?" At Catherine's agreement, Laura followed the girls out the door.

Billie, as promised, had taken Sophia and Olivia fishing with her that morning, and the girls had returned bright eyed, rosy cheeked, and chattering excitedly about the small fish they'd hooked then set free during their adventure. Thomas, much as his son would have, had a hot, homemade leek, cheese and potato soup, accompanied by BLT's awaiting the children on their return. Stomachs full, it was time to turn their attention to a few errands in town.

Girls changed into one of the dresses, pairs of tights and matching shoes Catherine had given them, Laura had just finished pulling Olivia's hair back in a ponytail and turned her attention to Sophie.

"Well, Sophie girl, what's it to be today?" Wordlessly, Sophie reached out and fingered Laura's braid.

"A French braid? Like mine?" Sophie nodded, retaining her silence. "Alright, a French braid it is," she agreed, impulsively hugging the little girl, her heart melting when Sophie not only relaxed into her embrace, but snuggled into it.

The trip to town proved productive, and provided another unexpected surprise where Sophie was concerned. A trip to the library netted a brand new library card and several books to read the girls at bedtime. A trip to market filled the rear of the Explorer with groceries specified on Thomas's list. But it was at their last, scheduled stop of the day that the need for just one more was inspired: Olivia's new, albeit it temporary, dance school. As Laura had registered Olivia, Sophie had stood with nose pressed to the window which allowed parents to watch as their children took class. Tilting her head in thought, Laura observed the little blonde for several minutes before walking up behind her and toying her braid.

"Soph," she asked quietly, "Would you like to go to dance and tumbling classes, like Livvie does?" The little girl turned around, eyes wide and bright.

"Can I, please?" Unbeknownst to Laura, she'd been in dance and tumbling classes, before Castoro had put a stop to it, calling the classes 'a frivolous waste' of his money, threatening to cut the child off completely unless his support was used for 'only the necessary."

"May I, please," Laura corrected gently, then nodded. "Yes, of course you may." She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of the child's head. "I'll be right back."

After a recommendation from the dance studio employee on where to go, they'd returned to the cabins with library books, groceries, leotards, tights and ballet shoes in tow. By the time the girls had eaten, baths were taken, Livvie had received her nightly call from her Da, stories were read, and songs were sung, Laura was simply exhausted, yet still reached for the Castoro files and the notes contained within. She blinked her eyes open, instantly alert and surprised she'd dozed off, when the mobile phone lying next to her on the bed rang insistently.

"Hello," she greeted, as she answered it.

"Ah, Mrs. Steele, you disappointment me," Remington's rich voice traveled over the line. Her brow furrowed, as his comment left her confused.

"How did I do that?" she asked a bit sharply, as she tried to shake the residue of sleep away.

"Here I was, comforted by the thought of you awaiting with bated breath for my call, when, in fact, you were taking a kip." Her frown lifted and she laughed quietly.

"You have no proof I was doing any such thing, Mr. Steele, and your mere supposition wouldn't hold up under scrutiny."

"Ah, but you forget, love," he countered, "I've had years to familiarize myself with the sound of your lovely voice when first you rouse from sleep."

"Purely circumstantial," she argued.

"Yet, I believe any investigator worth a salt would place infinite value on a husband's intimate knowledge of his wife's voice when roused." He paused for effect. "Speaking of arousal, have—"

"I don't believe we were speaking of arousal," she cut in, smiling, already knowing where this conversation would shortly travel.

"Of course, we were," he admonished, humor threading his words. "How could we not be when I'm lying in bed," he glanced down at his lounge pant clad frame, and gave a mental shrug, "Not a stich of clothing to be found, and my intoxicating partner is whispering in my ear in that lovely… lilting… voice of hers?" he asked, adding a seductive undertone to his voice.

"Whispering in your ear? We must have a bad connection." She stifled her laugh as she could picture the look of exasperation on his face, as she shot down another attempt.

"Just a few seductive words, is that too much for a man to ask?" he tried again, a bemused smile playing on his lips.

"Couverture, Richart, Teuscher, Valrhona, Puccini Bomboni, Godiva—" she rattled off in her most seductive voice, while he at first frowned trying to figure out what, precisely, she was going on about and then laughed a disbelieving laugh when he put it together.

" _Chocolate_ , Laura?"

"Is there anything in this world more seductive than chocolate?" she challenged.

"Well, a man might hope he'd rate higher in the art of seduction in his lover's estimation than a sweet confection," he retorted, feigning insult.

"A close second, Mr. Steele," she assured.

"A challenge it's to be then, hmmm?" he asked, drawing her laughter. "Now, how's Baby Steele this evening?" She tilted her head as she considered the question and focused on the baby, who seemed to kick in answer to the question.

"Restless."

"Missing her Da, is she?"

"He could be," she acknowledged, then yawned deeply. "I enrolled both girls in ballet and tumbling today."

"Both?" he asked, clearly surprised.

"You should have seen Sophie, Remington. She was entranced watching the class while I registered Olivia." She painted the scene for his visual imagination, then continued, "I asked if she wanted to take classes as well and she asked if she could." She shrugged a shoulder. "So I signed her up."

"It's never occurred to me that she might wish to…" he rubbed at his chin.

"Me either," she confessed. "But it's going to have to start occurring to both of us. The way she was watching those girls…" she shook her head. "I don't think this will be just something she does, as it is for Olivia. The look in her eyes…"

"We'll do better," he answered, determinedly. "Now, what's on deck for tomorrow?"

"Thomas and Catherine are going to spend the day with the girls while I do some research at the library," she told him, carefully choosing her words but answering honestly, all the same. "Where are we?"

"I've Burton and Celek sitting on Farrell and Hopkins. Nothing of interest to report from that end as of yet."

"And Brandon and Kiara?"

"Oversaw the first of the Finegold installations today. I'd like to keep them on that as long as possible," he supplied. "I must say, Mrs. Wolfe is to be commended on some impressive research."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"It appears we are not in search of a 'Robert' and a 'Phillip,' rather the surnames Roberts and Phillips. Partners out of narcotics. Phillips was investigated a decade back by Internal Affairs after a several packets of coke went missing after a bust." He raised his brows unseen. "One guess as to who he was reporting to then."

"Castoro," she breathed.

"On the nose, Mrs. Steele, on the nose. Thibodeaux has assigned a pair of his crew to tail them."

"I think an evening of dining at L'Orange for Bernice and Jason is in order."

"I'll make the arrangements," he agreed. "On to another couple of matters, one of Weasel's contacts may have a line on a former member of Westside who's willing to talk. I'll know more tomorrow, but, if so I'll be taking this on my own—"

"Not without Murphy," she stepped in before he could finish.

"Laura, if this happens, I can't go in there to speak with this bloke as Remington Steele," he tried to explain.

"I don't care if you speak to him as the Invisible Man, Mr. Steele," she answered firmly. "You don't go anywhere without backup. _Do you understand_?" she demanded, enunciating each of the last three words. He pulled a hand through his hair in frustration. She took his silence for the acquiescence it was, then sought to restore the peace. "Casa Malaga," she announced, then waited for him to catch up.

"What about it?" he at last asked, although his voice still belied his frustration.

"I can't get it out of my head," she shared. "I can _see_ our family there." Irritation forgotten, he sat up in their bed in the Holmby Hills home and listened attentively. "The theater and the perfect chef's kitchen for you, the studio for us. I can see our children playing in that amazing pool, on the beach, on that playset in the yard… us, one day, teaching them how to play tennis. We'd have our privacy in the master, but the children would still be close enough that we could easily reach them when they need us."

"Are you saying you wish for us to purchase Casa Malaga?"

"No," she drew out the word. "I want to know how you feel about it, the house in Malibu. If we're 'going for the dream,' as you put it, it needs to be _our decision_ , Remington, not mine."

"From a purely financial standpoint, the house in Malibu will increase more quickly in value, and be worth significantly more at the end of the day," he offered.

"And from the standpoint of our family?" she pressed.

"There's absolutely no compare," he answered. "In terms of the property itself, the layout of and finishes in the home, as well as the privacy the home affords, the Malibu property cannot begin to compare Casa Malaga. And the views. Ah, Laura, I can picture us lying in the hammock, watching the sun set over Bay as we listen to the waves lapping at the shore."

"Is that really where you see us?" she asked, worrying her lip as she feared he was simply ceding to her opinion.

"It is," he answered with quiet confidence. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to slow both pulse and the beating of her heart at the mere thought of the words she was about to utter.

"Then, if you find the time, call Meredith, and let's make it happen."

* * *

 _Tuesday, February 12_

Murphy sat in the driver seat of the car, shaking his head as Remington attached the earring to his lobe.

"I have to say Steele, I might like this get up even more than seeing you in that straightjacket," Murphy laughed, referring to the time they'd broken _into_ a hospital for the criminally insane to rescue Veronica Kirk. Remington slipped a piece of gum into his mouth, then smiled at the other detective.

"Should he have changed his mind about speaking with me, I certainly won't intimidate him going in there as Remington Steele," he pointed out, then easily transitioned into the Cockney accent and verbiage reserved for Johnny Todd. "But people tend ter give Johnny Todd whatever I' is 'e wants. Know what I mean?" Murphy gave him an impressed look.

"I can't help thinking if you'd shown up that day as Todd instead of Pearson, things may have turned out much differently," he mused.

"I would 'ave found a way ter win 'er over. A finer bird ders never been, and whatever i' took ter win 'er over would 'ave been well worf da effort. Nuff said, yeah?" This time Murphy roared with laughter.

"Yeah, enough said." He grew serious. "Alright, you're wired up. I doubt he searches you in a place like this," he nodded his head towards the truck stop down the road where Remington had agreed to meet the potential informant at. "I'll give you a sixty second lead, then will be coming in behind you." Remington have him a sharp nod, then climbed out of the car. Mounting the borrowed motorcycle he'd driven up from LA, he pulled on his helmet then turned the key. Peeling out of the parking lot, the back tire fishtailed before gaining purchase.

After his arrival, he'd easily spotted his prey: a nervous kid sitting in the rear booth of the restaurant. He swaggered toward the booth, chawing and snapping his gum.

"You Deamarius? Little P sent me." The kid looked around the restaurant and slumped down further in the booth.

"Yeah, man," he answered, nervously. "Sit down before you draw unwanted attention." Remington shrugged his shoulder and plopped down in the booth, slinging an arm over the back and propping up his feet on the vinyl seat. _Kid can't be more than eighteen_. Why he was shocked by this, he couldn't say. After all he'd been on the streets at a far younger age, and had been close, very close, to giving up, finding a group to run with, weary as he was at trying to survive the streets alone.

"You got infawmashun fer me?"

"Yo, why you wanna know what happened at Westside, anyways? This dude you chasing down is crazy, man."

"Bugger took somethin' impawtan ter me. No one takes from me and gets away wit' i'." Demarius looked at him as though he'd lost his mind.

"It's yo funeral, man. Whatever. So long as you got my money, I'll tell you what you wanna know."

"A few on da streets say Castoro was behind da Westside 'it. Why would 'e wan' ter do dat? Eh?"

"Man," the kid drew out the word. "Dude found out we was cooking crack and dealing it. We was sick of the motherfucker screwing us over. We lift the cars, strip them down or modify them, and he takes all our money." The kid wobbled his head. "Well, fuck that shit. We started a little side trade and were making bank," he stabbed a pair of fingers at the table top. "Castoro lost his shit when he found out. Three days later, we get hit."

"News said i' was a gang 'it," Remington pointed out.

"Too old, too light," he dismissed. "Nah, man, that was just an excuse. We'd been owin' those Hoovers some payback for jumping C-Cap's sister and everyone saying it was the who hit us let us take care of old business." Remington pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. Opening it up, his slid it across the table with a single finger.

"Any of dem, one of da ones dat shot yer place up?"

"Yeah. These three." Demarius pointed to Hopkins, Farrell and who they now knew to be Phillips. Remington folded back up the paper and put it back in his pocket before withdrawing ten, folded hundred-dollar bills and flicking it up between them.

"One more thing…" Remington added. "Names Paco and Eriberto mean anyting t' ya?"

"Paco? Never heard of him." Eyes on the money, he leaned back in his seat. "What's intel on Eriberto worth to you?" Remington fished two more hundred dollar bills out of his pocket and flashed them. "Eriberto, Big E, works over off forty-third running his game, but he ain't hooked up and no one gonna mess with him. He ain't nothin' but some chump running chicks."

Remington swung out of the booth and dropped the money on the table, tossing another twenty on top of it. "Get yerself somthun on me."

He strode out of the restaurant with Murphy close on his heels.

* * *

Laura pulled the Explorer into the drive in front of the cabin at three-ten. She'd have forty minutes to get the girls dressed, their hair done and into town for their first class. She eyed the motorcycle sitting in front of Thomas and Catherine's cabin with curiosity. Billie had shut down cabin rentals as long as they were staying there and they certainly weren't expecting any company.

When the door to Thomas's cabin swung open, and she saw the achingly familiar frame, she had to check the impulse to sprint into a run, feeling eminently foolish that such an impulse existed in the first place. Instead, she strolled towards him after a flip of her head.

"Hi," she greeted with a dimpled smile, tipping her head back to look up at him.

"A sight for sore eyes," he greeted, wrapping an arm around her waist then bending his head down to claim her lips. He reared his head back tasting his lips, while his eyes smiled. "Mmmm, yes, still as delectable as I recall," he murmured, before settling his lip over hers again. Her lips lifted in a smile under his when he hummed low in his throat. With a final touch of his lips to hers, he ended the kiss, but left his arm around her waist.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, rubbing a hand down then back up his arm, leaving it resting against his collarbone.

"I met with an informant less than a half-hour from here so thought…" He stroked the back of his fingers against her cheek.

"How long are you here for?" he looked at her regretfully.

"I need to be on the road in no more than twenty minutes if I don't wish to be navigating an unfamiliar road on an unfamiliar bike in the dark." Her brown eyes reflected her disappointment, but her face was carefully schooled into a composed mask. "Laura, it's time we speak with Sophie, show her the photos." She studied him at length.

"Alright. I'll see if Catherine wouldn't mind getting Olivia dressed for dance."

"It's already done. I dressed them myself a half hour back." She stepped out of his embrace and into the open doorway. Spying Sophie sitting on the couch with Catherine she called to her.

"Sophie, honey, can you come with me for a minute?" Dutifully, Sophie wiggled down to the couch and crossed the room to take Laura's extended hand. In silence, she and Remington escorted Sophie to Laura's cabin, then sat with her on the couch. As if sensing she had something to fear, Sophie tucked herself close to Laura's side.

Remington found himself suddenly tongue-tied, unable to be the one to open the child's wounds. He gave Laura a helpless look, his mouth opening and closing without a syllable spoken. Her shoulders slumped as she accepted it would have to be she to elicit the information they were seeking. She held out her hand to Remington, and once he placed the photo array in her hand, she dug deep to find the steel spine for which she was known.

"Sophie…" she stroked the little girl's head, "…Do you remember the night the bad men hurt your, Mommy?" Sophie shuddered visibly, and stuck a thumb into her mouth – something Laura only now realized she hadn't seen Sophie do in days. "Honey, I want you to look at some pictures. All I need you to do is point to the picture if you see either of the men who hurt Mommy, okay?" She looked at Remington when Sophie remained resolutely quiet, then sat the photo array on the little girl's lap.

The sight of those pictures was met by a keening wail. Remington's face pinched in distress as guilt assailed him for having a part in the child's upset.

"Sophie, show me. Show me who you're afraid of, baby," Laura cajoled, wrapping her arm tighter around the little girl. Slowly, Sophie moved a quaking hand then lay her finger against one of the images on the paper in front of her, before drawing a labored breath and beginning to sob. "Very good, Sophie. You're being very brave. Is there anyone else that was there that night?" Trembling and crying Sophie pointed to a second. No sooner had her finger landed on it than Remington was on his feet sweeping her up into his embrace. Wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his sides, she clung for dear life.

"At times like these, Laura, I have to wonder if we're any better than those we're after," he exclaimed, vehemently. She carefully rose to her feet, then tucked herself into the welcoming arm he opened for her.

"Then at times like these, we need _choose_ to be better," she answered, tipping back her head, her eyes moving from his strained face to Sophie's distraught form. She lay a hand on Sophie's back and rubbed, soothingly. "You can tell William and Thibodeaux Sophie identified Farrell and Hopkins as the men who assaulted Clarissa, but that Sophie will neither be spoken to about this again, nor will she be testifying. For her, this is over."

"You understand Clarissa's killers will never answer for her death should we do that, yes?" Her hand hovered over the back of Sophie's head for a long second, then began to caress it.

"I think," she answered slowly, "Clarissa would protect Sophia's peace of mind over all else." He nodded his head rapidly, as she addressed Sophie directly. "Sophie, we're all done here. Do you still want to go to dance class?" Sophie's sobs hiccupped to a stop as the words registered, then she nodded against Remington's shoulder. "Then let's go wash your face, and I'll take you back to Granddad, Grans and Olivia while I speak with Livvie's Da. Okay?" At Sophie's second, answering nod, Remington carried her to the bathroom and set her on her feet.

In short order, Sophie's face had been washed, and Remington, with Laura walking at his side, had carried the youngster to the other cabin, passing her to his father, who looked at him with confused concern as the little girl clutched hold of him.

"Laura will explain later," Remington offered, as he plucked Olivia off the floor and embraced her, then followed with a buss to the cheek. "Ah, Livvie Bee, I'll see you again just two days from now, hmmm?" he promised, when her face crumpled and tears threatened at his goodbye. "No tears, a stor. Now give your Da a smile to take with him." She used all the resolve in her tiny body to force a weak smile on her lips. "That's my girl," he praised, pressing a final kiss to her forehead then setting her on her feet. He lay a hand on the top of her shiny, raven colored hair then turned and went outside lest he say sod it all, and stay right where he wished to be.

Outside the cabin, Laura awaited him, with her arms wrapped around herself and her hands rubbing at them.

"Did you find out anything useful this morning?" she asked, focusing on business rather than her own riotous emotions regarding the current status of her family. He drew a hand through his hair, followed her lead, summarizing what he'd learned about Castoro's involvement in the Westside hit.

"I don't see why Sophie would be needed, then, if Farrell and Hopkins will already face any of number of charges for Westside," she noted with relief.

"Not to mention the attempt on our lives," he added.

"Where do we stand on identifying Paco and Eriberto?" she inquired.

"Ah, yes. Nothing that I'm aware of on Paco. It would seem Eriberto, who goes by 'Big-E', is a pimp working somewhere on forty-third. According to our informant, he has no affiliation with any of the gangs." Her eyes lit up at the information.

"You have no idea how important that information is, Mr. Steele," she informed him, as she walked briskly towards the SUV where her briefcase was still inside.

"Done it again, have I?" he grinned.

"I think you have," she agreed, rifling through the papers contained within the briefcase. "On five different occasions in Clarissa's journal she made an entry that Roberts and Phillips were picking up product. I realized yesterday that there was a pattern to these pick-ups: they all occurred on the third Friday of August and February, and all took place in border towns." She paused as she rummaged through the papers, and finally finding the one she was looking for pulled it from the stack and handed it to him. "This morning, I did a newspaper search for any noteworthy events taking place in the towns Clarissa mentioned, in and around those dates. In August seventeenth of last year, near the border outside of Las Cruces, New Mexico, a box truck was pulled over. Eleven girls between the ages of fourteen and nineteen were found in the back of the truck, each of them claiming they'd been offered work in the States and it was their opportunity for a better life." Eyes still on the article she'd handed him, he glanced up at her through his lashes.

"They're trafficking women," he concluded, then amended, "Children actually."

"I think so," she agreed. "It's a practice whispered about but not often acknowledged: Young women promised entrance into the United States, as long as they agree to work for their 'benefactor' until their debt is paid off. Most believe they'll become a housekeeper or a Nanny, but instead they're turned out onto the streets." She was so excited by potentially blowing yet another of Castoro's operations sky-high that she failed to notice when his attention was caught by something on the paper. "You need to get in touch with William or Thibodeaux when you get back to LA. If we're right, there's not much time to prove it. This Friday, a pick up should be scheduled."

"I don't imagine Twin Pines has much of a library to speak of, eh?" She gave him a baffled look.

"No. It doesn't. Did you even hear what I said?"

"Yes, yes," he answered, flicking an impatient hand in her direction, as his temper rose. "Westfield. Thibodeaux. Friday. So, you found all this at the library?"

"At the library," she confirmed, her own impatience showing in her voice. "The matter at hand, Mr. Steele?"

"The _Twin Pines_ library," he pursued, ignoring her admonishment. Her eyes widened slightly and her mouth clamped shut. _Oh, God._ In her zeal, she'd completely forgotten her omission during their conversation the evening before and it appeared it had just come to light. Yet, the fury flashing in his eyes was _exactly_ why she hadn't disclosed the location of where she was going.

"Cal State, Fresno, actually." He gave a sharp nod of his head.

"I see." The muscle in his jaw twitched, and with one, last, disbelieving shake of his head, he strode with purpose towards the borrowed motorcycle. She followed behind him.

"Remington, it was _just_ the library," she defended.

"And a few days ago, it was _just_ a day at the beach," he shot back, as he pulled the helmet over his head.

"Oh, for God's sake!" she swore, her own temper threatening to erupt. "No one even knows we're here!" She threw up her hands, expressing her own frustration.

"The same could be said about our afternoon on the beach, couldn't it?" he challenged. He prepared to turn the key in the ignition, then gave it a second thought and turned to look at her. "My every instinct was telling me that Castoro would come after us. I asked… bloody well _begged_ … that you take the children and leave. But could you do it? Not Laura Holt, who must stand and fight, bugger the price that may be extracted. And look what it nearly cost us!" he roared. Her eyes widened at what he'd implied.

"You think it's my fault," she breathed, thoroughly stunned at not only the words spoken, but the ire with which they'd been said. He shook his head and, looking away for several ticks of the second hand, rubbed at the back of his neck. When he looked back at her, she was blindsided by the look of utter resignation in his eyes. Only once before had he detached himself so thoroughly from her: during the days of her anger-fueled flirtation with Antony Roselli.

"I keep hoping one day it will change, that your vows to put us, our family, first won't be little more than lip service. But either you can't… or won't. Somewhere in that head of yours, you'll always find a reason, a justification… a 'just.' Perhaps it's time I accepted that Livvie and I… and now Sophie and soon our babe…" he gesticulated towards her stomach, "…will always come in a distant second to the latest mystery, the newest case… to the bloody Agency." She paled at the accusation and was rendered completely speechless. He saw the stark hurt in her eyes, and simply didn't have it in him to care, for this latest example of double standards and duplicity was one, far too many. "Tell Livvie I'll call her before she goes to bed." With that, he turned the key, gave the bike some gas, released the kickstand, and peeled out of the driveway, never looking back.

Laura watched his retreating back until he turned on the road and sped away. While he wouldn't abandon his promise to his little girl, where she, Laura, was concerned, he would be closed off to her. There would be no phone calls for her on this eve… and who knew how many more?


	38. Chapter 37: Barometers

Chapter 37: Barometers

 _Wednesday, February 13_

"I'll let Mr. Steele fill you in on the new information he uncovered yesterday," Thibodeaux clipped out, conceding the floor to the private detective.

Remington started. Truth be told, he'd been all-but-dozing during the task-force meeting although his eyes had been wide open. He hadn't been able to get in a couple decent winks of sleep the night before. His anger was a living, breathing thing, with Laura's intentional deception and the what-could-have-been's acting as the fuel keeping the fire burning white hot. So, he'd paced, he'd prowled, he'd brooded, he'd tossed, he'd turned and yes, he'd sulked. And the lot of it had left him sleep deprived and had done him absolutely no good. He was no closer to finding answers, solace, when the new day had demanded his attendance.

When he'd returned to LA the prior evening, he'd rung up Westfield and updated him on all he'd discovered, as well as Laura's theory. That call had only served to further irritate, as the man himself was a potent example of Laura's ability to deceive, to justify those deceptions.

* * *

"… _ **losing our license may be the very best thing that ever happened to us. Maybe it'll give us time to think about how we really feel towards each other, outside work. All we've ever done is play trial-and-error with our personal relationship, as we try to squeeze it into our professional one."**_

* * *

And what was it she'd said about that bit of duplicity? Ahhhh, yes….

* * *

" _ **I was scared. It's always been too easy to lose myself in you, in us, breaking rule after rule that I've created for myself. I'd been in too deep from almost the day I met you. You and I, we'd reached a point that the next step meant no turning back. It… terrified me. William was… safe. I'd never find myself in too deep with him. I'd never lose myself in him. He was just a genuinely nice, semi-boring guy who believed in the good old Protestant work ethic like me. Just safety. No risks."**_

* * *

'Just.' There was that word again.

Westfield was a decent enough chap, he'd come to realize over the week of working with the man. The man was nothing if not committed to his job, and the people of California were in all-the-better hands for it. Much like he and Laura, Westfield was dedicated to seeing justice meted out, to protecting innocents from the nefarious doings of others. The man was a straight arrow, to boot, telling it exactly as it was, good, bad or otherwise. He even had a pair of brass ones, directly addressing last evening their joint histories and attempting to lay it to rest.

"How are Laura and the kids?" Westfield inquired.

"Not thrilled with their forced absence, but making the best of it." He glanced at his watch. "Speaking of, my daughter will be awaiting her nightly call about now. I should be-"

"Steele, before you go," Westfield cut in. "I'd like to clear the air between you and I."

"I wasn't aware the air needed clearing."

"That statement alone confirms that it does. If you'd humor me for a minute?" Westfield requested. Remington glanced at his watch again.

"Just."

"I feel compelled to tell you I didn't know Laura was involved with someone else until she left me sitting on that plane and even then, I had no idea it was you," Westfield volunteered. "I've made it a point, throughout my life, not to do to someone else what I wouldn't want done to me, including making a play for a woman already seeing another man."

"Yes, well, I imagine the blame for that falls squarely on Laura's shoulders, although we made our peace with it many years ago," Remington commented, forthrightly.

"I like you, Steele. There aren't too many people I'd put my trust in, but I think you could be one of them. And I believe Elle, my wife, would enjoy both of you." Remington pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it, with a disbelieving look on his face. _Is the bloke actually suggesting we might become friends?_ "For what it's worth, I am sincerely sorry for my unwitting part in it all."

"Appreciate it, but it's unnecessary." He gave his watch a third look. "My daughter will be getting quite testy about now," he hinted.

"Meeting is at eight, tomorrow. I'll see you there."

He'd leaned back on the couch and had rubbed at his face for long second before reaching for the mobile phone, not relishing the thought, at all, that he'd first have to go through Laura to speak with Livvie. The joke had been on him, however, as it was his daughter's voice who greeted him when the phone had been answered. He'd expected….

"Mr. Steele?" Remington mentally shook his head clear of his wandering thoughts.

"Sorry, sorry," he offered those sitting around the table, as he patently ignored the queer look Murphy was casting in his direction. "Yesterday afternoon, I met with an informant: A former member of Westside who has sought anonymity in a town several hours from here. Westside had begun running a furtive crack manufacturing and sales operation, wishing not to be under Castoro's thumb in this enterprise as well. Shortly after Castoro's discovery of Westside's side business, they were hit. My informant has identified three of the individuals in the photo line-up as being amongst the shooters: Farrell, Hopkins and Phillips."

"If they knew Castoro was responsible for it, why retaliate against the Hoovers?" Sizemore with narcotics ventured.

"Westside had an old score to settle, so the 'hit' on them allegedly by the Hoovers proved too good to pass up," Remington informed those at the table, tapping his fingers against it for emphasis. "The Hoovers certainly weren't going to deny it, as—"

"It gives them credibility on the streets," Sizemore finished, as the full picture dawned on him. "Mess with us, we'll take you out. Then, other gangs with a beef against Westside or the Hoovers see them as weakened and decide now's the perfect time to get some of their own paybacks."

"Precisely," Remington concurred, pointing a finger at the cop. He turned in his seat to address Westfield and Thibodeaux directly. "Yesterday afternoon, in that same photo array, Sophie identified Farrell and Hopkins at the men who attacked her mother. Obligated though we might be to report that bit of information—"

"Westfield, we'll need a warrant for the arrests of Farrell, Hopkins and Castoro given we now have a witness—"

"No, you don't," Remington interrupted Thibodeaux, adamantly. "As I was saying, obligated though we might be to report that bit of information, our first responsibility is for the safety and well-being of the child placed in our care. Sophie will neither testify nor discuss this again in the future… ever."

"Damn it, Steele!" Thibodeaux boomed. "Not a single one of his men have flipped on him and now when we could have the three of them behind bars within the next few hours, you're playing Daddy instead of investigator!"

"You're bloody well right I am and it's about time someone did!" Remington bit out. "She's a three-year-old child who not only watched the only person that ever gave a damn about her brutalized, but then was thrust into the home of strangers, only to be further traumatized by the attack on my family this weekend. She's been put through enough, and if providence is on our side she'll somehow come out of it all whole and healthy. But that won't be the case should she be forced to relive it time-and-time again!" Thibodeaux waved a dismissive hand towards him.

"Kids forget. Westfield, get those warrants. We'll compel the kid to testify if—"

"Sorry, Al," Westfield declined, calmly. "I agree with Steele on this one." Two surprised faces turned to look at him. "We'll find another way, and I think the Steele's have already come up with it. Steele?"

"My informant was familiar with Eriberto, a pimp, going by the name of Big-E, running women over off 43rd. With this information, one of our associates was able to put a full name not only to him, but Paco as well." He paused and glanced at his notes. "Eriberto Soto, twenty-eight years of age, born in Mexico, here illegally. He's been arrested a half dozen times on charges of domestic battery, and in every instance the victim insisted the charges be dropped. Contrary to the information provided, he doesn't run women off 43rd, it's where he lives. I had Graham and Warmack sit on the house last evening. Shortly before nine he loaded eight women into his van and drove them down to the Boulevard." He swung his chair towards Murphy, who was seated at his right. "Michaels?"

"Paco Medina, thirty-four, from Venezuela, also here illegally," Murphy stepped in. "Lives off Gage and South Vermont in Vermont-Slauson. Burton and Celek tailed him last night. He runs his women on Lankershim. Unlike Soto, pimping appears to be a cover for his main business: illegal sale of weapons. He's been busted three times, and did a year in Valley State last time around."

"Do you think either of them will roll on Castoro?" Thibodeaux asked. Remington and Murphy exchanged glances.

"We have no way of knowing that," Murphy answered for the pair. "But, I think with the right incentive Paco could be convinced."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Another three-pronged approach, actually," Remington replied, while Murphy pulled out a stack of papers and handed them off to Davis, on his right, to pass around the table. "My… partner… found a pattern in some of the entries found amongst Clarissa's notes – specifically involving Roberts and Phillips: On the third Friday of each August and February, they make a trip to border towns for a 'product pick up.'" Murphy passed the next stack of papers to Davis. "My… erstwhile… partner…" He again ignored Murphy's assessing look at his choice of words, "…discovered during a trip to the library yesterday afternoon, that last August, a truck full of women traveling illegally into the country was stopped. It so happened, this bust was right outside of Las Cruces where Roberts and Phillips were scheduled for a pick-up."

"The women were the product…" Westfield concluded with a whistle. "That brings into the equation an unknown number of federal charges. "I'm impressed, Steele."

"My…" he cleared his throat and tried again, "All credit goes to Laura and the… _remarkable, often boggling_ … way her mind works."

"Your plan?" Thibodeaux prodded.

"This evening, Michaels and I will do a little… reconnaissance of Medina's while getting the lay of the land, so to speak," Remington replied.

"This is a gray area we're entering now, Steele," Westfield warned. "As a citizen, I can't prevent you from entering his house. But, you're to remove nothing from the place. I don't want to find myself in a situation where the Court tosses –"

"Fruit from the poisonous tree and all that," Remington cut in with a dismissive flick of his hand.

"This is not our first rodeo," Murphy added.

"As long as we're clear," Westfield nodded.

"We are," Remington confirmed.

"So, what else?"

"The INS owes Laura and I a favor or three. I've already reached out to my intermediary. On Friday, whilst Roberts and Phillips are on their way to their pick up, should the schedule hold true, the INS will cooperate with this task force on the raid of Soto and Medina's homes." Remington turned to Murphy who continued.

"Westfield, you'll want to have a search warrant ready for both locations, on whatever grounds you wish as long as it will cover the discovery of any weaponry found in Soto's place."

"I can do that," Westfield agreed, easily enough.

"And the third prong?" Thibodeaux inquired impatiently.

"Roberts and Phillips," Murphy responded. "You'll need several two-men teams tailing them to wherever Friday's pick up is. We don't want them to become suspicious their being followed, so cars will need to trade on and off. We'd be wise to get a tracker on whatever vehicle the pair are traveling in, and to bug the cab as well, if the opportunity arises."

"More warrants," Westfield commented.

"More warrants," Murphy confirmed with a nod. "it would be our suggestion that one of your teams work in conjunction with the INS raid, and we'll put Burton, Graham, Warmack and Celek on the road with your other two teams, tailing Roberts and Phillips. You'll also need to cooperation of someone you trust within the FBI so they can act as a liaison between your task force and local law enforcement, should this cross state lines, which I expect it will. Once the exchange of product is made, both the transporter and Roberts and Phillips will be subdued."

"Nailing Roberts and Phillips on human trafficking charges, at the very least—" Remington summarized.

"And we're betting the transporter will be more than willing to roll on those two in exchange for nothing more than removal from the country," Murphy finished.

"And how is any of this going to put Castoro behind bars?" Thibodeaux challenged. "Not a single person arrested during the first round of raids was willing to talk."

"Ah," Remington drawled. "But they lacked proper incentive. Soto is not only facing deportation, but a stiff prison sentence, in a facility where it might be mentioned he turned mere children out onto the streets to line his pockets."

"And as for Medina, if he has weapons on the grounds as we expect, between hefty weapons charges on top of those related to the women he's purchasing from Castoro, he's facing what could be a life sentence," Murphy pointed out. "A light sentence combined with deportation, in exchange for testimony could be a strong reason for him to cooperate."

Thibodeaux and Westfield exchanged looks, and at a nearly indiscernible nod from Westfield, Thibodeaux turned to Davis.

"Davis, you and your men will stay behind and work with the INS," he ordered. "Henley, Breathwaite, your teams will be taking a trip, each team switching out in intervals of sixty to ninety minutes until we have a transmitter on the suspect vehicle. I don't want to risk making the men paranoid and calling the pickup off. Breathwaite, you'll take charge of this detail, including Steele's people. Steele, before your recon at Medina's this evening, we could use your assistance."

"Oh? How's that?" he asked, with a tug at his ear.

"We've had no traffic coming from the transmitters in Castoro's home office: either they're broken, or he knows someone is listening. I'd like to check things out tonight while he and the wife are at the club. Once you clear the system for Davis and his crew, you're out of there."

"Shouldn't present a problem," Remington agreed.

"Then let's get at it everyone," Thibodeaux ordered, officially calling an end to the meeting.

* * *

"So, what's the deal?" Murphy asked, while taking a bite of his burger, where he sat across from Remington at his desk.

"I've no idea what you're speaking of," Remington answered, taking a bite of his burger as well.

"Are you forgetting I've been around since you first walked into this very office. I know all the signs for when Mommy and Daddy are fighting," he reminded, as Remington looked up at him through his lashes while leaning over for to take another bite at the sandwich, but not offering a word in answer. "All the business with 'my… partner'," he mimicked. "When things are good between you, you refer to her as Laura or Mrs. Steele. When the two of you are going at it, 'partner' or 'Miss Holt' are your descriptions of choice. So spill." Heaving an exasperated sigh, Remington tossed down his burger and leaned back in his chair.

"Where should I begin? That she intentionally deceived me? That she didn't honor her word? That once more she placed business before our family or that, yet again, she has made it patently clear the rules do not apply to herself?" Thoroughly irritated now, he yanked the napkin from his collar and threw it on the table, standing to pace. Murphy let out a low, long whistle.

"Busy lady," he commented, aloud, wryly. "Do you mind telling me how she managed to do all that while hiding out at a fishing camp?"

"To 'hide out at a fishing camp', one must stay at said camp, mustn't they?" Remington answered with a question of his own, instead.

"So, she took off. Can't say I'm surprised," Murphy admitted. "Where to?"

"The library." Murphy laughed openly at this.

"Don't you think you're overreacting a little, Steele?" he ventured. "Didn't she, Catherine and the girls go grocery shopping, to the dance studio and the library only the day before—"

"In Fresno," Remington interrupted. "Two hours away, while not only leading me to believe she meant in town, but sans Tank or Dozer." Murphy sobered at that. "And not a dozen hours after she lambasted me for even _considering_ meeting with my informant without you there to watch my back," he thought to add in his annoyance. Murphy helped himself to some more of his burger while taking time to contemplate this information.

"Do you remember what I told you about Laura and Jeffries while we were in Mexico?" he finally asked.

* * *

" _ **He couldn't keep up with her, so instead of setting her free, he decided to slow her down… So when she told me they were moving in together, I let her know I thought it was a huge mistake. That slowly but surely he was taking the very best parts of her and blending them into his version of the Stepford Wives… It took her the better part of a year to pull herself completely together…"**_

* * *

"As though I'm likely to forget," Remington muttered in answer.

"Nine years ago, there's not a person on this planet that could have made me believe you would be good for Laura, let alone the best thing that's ever happened to her," Murphy began thoughtfully. "But you were and are. I'd like to say she's happy, content, but it's more than that. There's in a light in her eyes, a confidence, I haven't seen in her since those days at Stanford. She's... found herself, again, but a better self. As much as she used to claim she wanted it all, I never bought it." Remington lowered himself back into his chair and reached for his cup of water.

"Oh?"

"Think about it, Steele," Murphy challenged. "She's never been able to please her mother: Laura's too independent, too wild, too determined, too smart, too headstrong… too everything, except what her mother thought she should be and yet somehow she was never enough. And Frances? She might not be as judgmental as their mother, but have you ever heard her compliment Laura without first criticizing her? Even now, her mother still doubts Laura is capable of being a wife and mother and is just waiting for her to fail so she can say 'It's alright, dear. We always knew you weren't cut out for it, but you tried your best.' And Wilson?" He snorted his derision. "Don't even get me started on him. He wanted a mindless trophy on his arm; someone to bat her eyes and smile at the higher ups he wanted to impress, but sure as hell not to speak or render any kind of opinion."

"While I appreciate your wishing to help, I'm not certain what this has—" Remington began.

"I'm not finished," Murphy admonished. "The only person who saw Laura as not lacking, who valued who and what she was simply for being her, walked out of her life and never looked back, leaving her to figure out on her own how to survive, to find value in herself living in that household with her mother and sister. School, sports, _her job_. All of them objective ways of finding value in herself. If you get an A in a class, you're doing it right – there is nothing subjective in that. If you win a race, throw a runner out, hit a triple bringing in the game winning runs – you're doing it right. If you solve a case, you're doing it right. All of them are objective barometers, in her mind, of her worth, because after her father left there was no one standing beside her telling her she was valuable for no other reason than she was Laura Holt." Remington shook his head in denial.

"Laura knows I find her valuable beyond measure—"

"You're missing the point," Murphy interrupted, exasperated. Remington rubbed at his mouth in frustration, then lifted the hand and dropped it in helpless gesture.

"Then perhaps you should spell it out for me," he huffed.

"Laura always said she wanted it all, but bought into a lifetime of being told she'd never quite measure up as either a wife or mother," Murphy explained, striving for patience. "I can guarantee you, there is no one as shocked as she that she, like anything else she puts her mind to, has excelled at both. But now, her family is being threatened. You want to speak about powerful barometers? If any one of you do not come out of this safe and whole, in her eyes it will be because of a massive failure on _her_ part. _Of course_ , she went to that library. When everything else has failed her, the _job_ never has and that job is the only way she knows not to fail at the most important thing she's ever done in her life: your family."

"I don't know, I don't know," Remington mumbled, shoving aside his lunch then dragging his hand through his hair. "If that were the case, why would she take any risks when it comes to herself and the babe she's carrying?"

"Why do you think?" Murphy challenged, as he stood and tossed his waste into the trash can. "I'm going to borrow Laura's office and call home." With that, he vacated the office, leaving Remington to turn in his chair and stare out the window, brooding, lunch forgotten.

* * *

"Whoever said appearances can be deceiving must have been talking about this place," Murphy noted, with an appreciative whistle.

Remington and he had breached the back door of the dilapidated house minutes before and now stood in the living room, as Remington quickly committed to memory all the entry points to the room. The room, indeed, did not reflect the seedy exterior of the house. A couch and loveseat of buttery soft leather, were accented by glass and wrought iron end and coffee tables. The face of the slate fireplace extended to the ceiling, and the area rug was made of pure angora wool. Knick knacks carefully displayed on various surfaces were pricey, the art on the walls even more so. Even the drapes at the windows were of obvious quality and likely custom made. Medina certainly enjoyed living comfortably and well.

Each room they entered, then searched, displayed the same taste for luxurious living and yielded absolutely… nothing. Until, that is, they ventured down to the basement. Initially innocuous in its contents, a padlock on a closed door instantly drew their attention. Stooping before the door, Remington made fast work of the lock with his picks, then stood and pulled open the door. A flick of the light switch illuminated a room that left them both initially speechless.

"Well," Remington cleared his throat, "Thibodeaux's boys are going to be busy cataloging in here, eh?"

Shelves and cabinets were packed end-to-end in the room and each were filled with a large selection of fire arms. On a central table lay several dozen handguns, which, upon closer examination, it appeared someone was currently working on filing off the serial numbers. Pulling his gloves out of his pocket, Remington picked up several to examine them. Murphy, once gloved up as well, began taking pictures of each weapon using the small, disposable, Kodak Fling camera they'd purchased for just this occasion.

Twenty minutes later, they departed the home, unaware they'd been under video surveillance the entire time.


	39. Chapter 38: Reflections

Chapter 38: Reflections

 _Thursday, February 14_

Laura sat in an Adirondack chair at the edge of the lake, watching as the girl's concentrated on fishing off the short pier under Billie's watchful eye. A trip to the orthopedist that morning had resulted in a new cast on Sophie's arm, now that the swelling had reduced. When they'd arrived back at the cabins, Sophie had resolutely carried a marker from person-to-person, including Tank and Dozer, so each adult might 'draw' on her cast as they had the first. Laura had smiled while watching her, the action symbolic of Sophie's continued emergence from her shell.

Pulling her sweater tighter around her to ward off the chill, she forced a smile on her face when Livvie called to her.

"You're doing a wonderful job, Livvie Bee," she called back. "You'll have to tell Da when you speak to him tonight. He'll be so proud."

"Okay, Mommy!" Olivia happily agreed before returning her focus to the small fishing pole held in hand.

Remington had faithfully called each night, as he'd promised their daughter he would, and last night had he'd even been honored with the rare treat of Sophie sharing a bit of her day with him before she bade him goodnight. As far and he and Laura? No more than a half dozen words had been exchanged between them since Tuesday afternoon, and the phone had remained ominously quiet each night as she lay tossing and turning in bed, trying to go to sleep. The babe she was carrying sensed her distress, and moved, rolled and kicked in response to it, making sleep that much more difficult to obtain. As a result of two nights with little sleep, she was beyond exhausted, and quickly spiraling towards bleak depression.

Two days. For two days he'd shut her out entirely. How many times, she wondered now. How many times in the last years had she first told, then reminded, him how withdrawing himself completely from her made her feel? Each time he did this, she was taken back to the days after her father disappeared or to the days when Wilson would punish her with his silence for some slight she'd committed towards him, real or imagined, until he finally left as well. The silence, the lack of presence, not only made for oppressive loneliness, but each time gave rise to those old fears that one day she'd wake and find herself truly alone.

And for what this time? Because she'd gone to the library. _The library!_

Yet, if she were honest with herself, there was far more to it than a trip into the tomes.

She was… restless. For some reason, it had been easier for her to step back, let others do her job, run her Agency in her stead when she was pregnant with Olivia. Perhaps because she and Remington had no sooner discovered she was carrying the child they'd created together, than she had nearly lost him at the hands of a mad woman. The need to keep their child safe had been positively visceral after she'd spent many a night at Remington's hospital bedside, her sleep haunted with dreams of the life that had never been or might never be. Perhaps she'd relented to restricted work duties so easily for no other reason than her pregnancy with Olivia had been so much harder on her than this one was. When you were either on your hands and knees part of the day emptying your stomach or were so exhausted by mid-afternoon the only thing you were able to concentrate on was how comfortable the couch in your office looked, your body made the decision on your limitations, not your mind… or your heart.

But this pregnancy? From the start it had been effortless. The news she was pregnant wasn't trumpeted in by long rounds of gut turning nausea, but rather quietly announced itself in the slight tenderness of her breasts which had in turn led her to count backwards to her last cycle. There had been no longing looks at the couch, only the occasional cup of coffee to help her revive her mildly flagging energy. Even though she felt perfectly capable, physically, of doing her job, she'd still relinquished certain duties with an easy acceptance.

However, all that was before Castoro's power and poison had swept over their lives like a tidal wave wiping away solace upon the occupied shore.

She'd voluntarily come to this place, this serene hideaway, that was at the same time a purgatory in its own rights, for 'voluntary' was a complex word in this specific case. She didn't wish to leave. As Remington had pointed out, it was her instinct to stay and fight. Equally as important was the disruption of a very carefully balanced life, a life that had been nearly nine years in the making. A life they'd both sensed the possibility of from the start, the hopes for which they'd clung to, fought for. No, she hadn't wanted to come here, to have their lives dismantled and scattered about them. She'd come because there were three children who needed either she or Remington to shelter them from harm, and given she was carrying one of those children there was no choice in which of them would man the safe haven.

But in coming here, she'd voluntarily allowed another piece of herself to be… misplaced.

She wasn't quite sure who she was anymore. She'd been a bit... lost… for several months now, beginning right around the time the recognition she would be sidelined from the bulk of her job for more than three quarters of a year had set in. By natures design, she was afforded only so many years of doing her job fully before the limitations of age and even injury set in. She was no longer twenty-two years old with at minimum a dozen and a half years of unimpeded detective work in front of her. A lifetime. Or so it had seemed then. But she'd turned thirty-five only a few weeks ago, and suddenly those eighteen years had morphed into a meager five, making three-quarters of a year seem so much more significant.

Who was she if she was no longer Laura Holt Steele, private detective.

Her entire life had been a series of constantly changing and evolving roles. First, she'd been the youngest daughter of Abigail Holt and cherished child of Jack Holt; the dancer in training, the piano student… the tomboy. Eventually she'd become the daughter abandoned by her father, athlete, accomplished college student, Wilson's girlfriend… then the woman who, for some reason, the men she loved, left. Then there was the college graduate, a private investigator, and finally owner of the Agency.

And of all those roles, it had been the last two which were the perfect, enduring fit. Those roles had been her refuge, her solace, her pride, her joy… her everything.

Until the day _he'd_ walked into her life. He with his dark hair and blue eyes, who'd challenged her, made her laugh, frustrated her and had stolen the heart she'd secreted away years before.

And now, as much a part of her confused self-identity as the ticking time clock of her fully active career, for there were a host of new roles added to her schemata of herself… and all their accompanying demands. Best friend. Lover. Partner. Wife. Mother. Roles she cherished, deeply. Roles she'd lay down her life for. Roles that held more importance than those of investigator and Agency owner… a realization that was shocking to herself.

To sacrifice, even in its smallest measurement, any of these roles, however, was to give up a part of who she knew herself to be.

Yet, she'd done just that. When their family had come under attack, she'd departed for time unknown to keep safe as much of her family as she could… leaving behind the person who made balancing and succeeding in all those roles possible.

She'd measured the risks. Carefully, and at length. No one knew they were here, of that she was certain. No one had followed them from LA. They'd garnered no particular interest while in town. Fresno was nearly half a state removed from LA. She'd left Dozer and Tank to see to the safety of the girls, Thomas and Catherine. It had been an easy, relaxing drive… although she'd stayed on constant alert for any signs she was being tailed.

It had been necessary, for if her intuition was correct, the information uncovered might allow them to end Castoro's tyranny once and for all.

Laura shifted in her seat, shivering a bit as the sun had shifted overhead, its warmth no longer hitting her directly. Her eyes wandered to the dock, where Billie was leaning over speaking with the girls, their grave attention settled fully on her. With a soft smile dancing over her lips, she returned to her thoughts.

Yes, she'd been deceptive with Remington about her intentions for the day. True, she'd gone alone to Fresno, after demanding he not do the same to the meeting with his informant. And, yes, she'd insisted on bringing Murphy into this to watch Remington's back, and out from under Tank and Dozer's watchful eyes, she'd had no one guarding hers.

But the risk had been miniscule… non-existent… that she'd encounter any threat. Still, if Remington had known her plans he would have gone into protective mode, and if it had come down to it, would have seen to it Dozer and Tank sat on her, allowing her not a single opportunity to do her job.

Her job. Remington's accusation assailed her once more.

* * *

" _ **I keep hoping one day it will change, that your vows to put us, our family, first won't be little more than lip service. But either you can't… or won't. Somewhere in that head of yours, you'll always find a reason, a justification… a 'just.' Perhaps it's time I accepted that Livvie and I… and now Sophie and soon our babe… will always come in a distant second to the latest mystery, the newest case… to the bloody Agency."**_

* * *

How, she asked herself now, could he not see it? The decision to go to Fresno had nothing, whatsoever, to do with the 'latest mystery, newest case… the bloody Agency'. It had _everything_ to do with protecting her family, himself included. Her _job_ , her training, had merely allowed her to intuit there was something to be found in those border towns that would allow them to do just that.

How could he expect her to disregard her every instinct, when she'd already given up so much of the rest of her life?

How could he demand that she sit here in this quiet captivity, doing nothing, while he was back at home doing everything within his power to protect their family?

"Laura?" Thomas's warm, cultured tones broke into her thoughts. Shaking them free, she automatically looked up at him, a welcoming smile lifting her lips. "I thought you could use a spot of tea to chase away the chill." He indicated one of the two mugs held in hand.

"I could. Thank you," she answered, accepting the proffered mug, then finding herself inordinately touched when he spread an afghan over her lap, before motioning with the remaining mug to the chair next to her.

"Would you mind if I joined you?" he inquired.

"Not at all," she insisted, shifting in her chair again, to face more towards him as he sat down and stretched out his long legs before him. In silence, they watched Olivia and Sophia as the girls honed their casting skills, dancing about excitedly when their lines went beyond the end of the pier.

"Extraordinary," he mused quietly, drawing both her attention and another smile.

"They are, aren't they?" she agreed, proudly. The corners of his lips lifted in a contemplative smile that reminded her so much of his son's. A pang of melancholy made her own smile falter.

"Indeed, they are. However, I was speaking of far more than just the girls." She tilted her head at him in silent question.

"What do you mean?" she questioned, curiously.

"There was a time I'd thought all this was lost to me quite for good. Nearly four years on and I can hardly believe I've the honor and privilege of being part of my son's life, of watching his children born, then grow." She reached over and grasped his free hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"It means the world to Remington, as well."

"As do you," Thomas commented. She quirked up a corner of her mouth in a sad, doubtful, half-smile.

"I don't know about that," she answered, wryly. "He's a bit…" she searched for the word "…put out with me at the moment."

"Yes, so we heard." Her back straightened and she stared at him wide-eyed. He gave her an apologetic look. "Sturdy though these charming cabins may be, the doors are frightfully thin and the windows are not soundproof. I assure you, we'd not meant to eavesdrop."

"Oh, God, the girls," she bemoaned, pressing both hands to her face.

"I doubt they paid mind to a bit of it," Thomas consoled. "Catherine admirably kept them preoccupied with a rousing rendition of 'Here we go round the mulberry bush'. I take it from your solemn mood these two days past, you and he have yet to make amends?" With a sigh, she dropped her head to lay against the back of the chair.

"That's difficult to do when one is not speaking to the other," she answered, resignedly. He nodded slowly in acknowledgement.

"I seem to recall a day at Marston Manor when he wasn't much interested in speaking with me, either, after I'd revealed my and Daniel's collusion." This time it was he who reached for her hand to give it a squeeze of support. "If you wouldn't allow him to walk away and not hear me out, then, why would you allow him to do so to you, now?" With a final squeeze of her hand, he stood and left her to her thoughts.

* * *

The mobile phone rang promptly at 7:30, as it had done for the last four evenings.

"Girls, stay in bed, I'll be right back," Laura instructed, then stepped out of their bedroom and closed the door behind her before answering the call. "Hello?"

Seated at a table in the command post, Remington's mouth opened, then closed, at a loss for words. He and Murphy were pulling a late night, pouring over printouts of serial numbers while grabbing a bite to eat when the appointed time for his call to Olivia had arrived. For two nights, Laura had answered the phone then without a word had handed it to their daughter. Had he truly expected her to do so indefinitely? If he had, he acknowledged now, he'd been a doddering egit. He was still thinking of what to say when she began speaking again.

"We need to air things out between us, Remington," she informed him determinedly. That announcement kicked his brain into gear.

"I'm afraid now's not a good time," he replied, pasting a smile on his face for Murphy's sake. "Michael's and I have stacks of reports to muddle through before—"

"It's your choice. Either we can agree on a time I can expect your call, or I can put the girls to bed and be home by no later than eleven." A muscle twitched in his jaw at even the mere suggestion. He took to his feet and walked outside, away from prying ears, before speaking.

"It's not enough to have placed yourself and our child at risk to play detective, then, eh?" he asked coolly. "But, you'd willingly do so again because you've found yourself in a bit of a temper?"

"In a bit of a—" Closing her eyes, she swallowed hard, then lifted her face towards the ceiling, blinking her eyes. "I can't do this, Mr. Steele. The girls and I have been forced from our home. I have no idea what's going on with Castoro. I'm left to my own imagination to figure out what role you might next play for this task force, wondering when my phone's going to ring so that someone can tell me…" she visibly cringed when her voice cracked, and she drew in a breath to regain some control "… that something's happened to you. I can't stop asking myself if this is it, if you've finally had enough and are going—" As angry as he was, he was not immune to her vulnerability.

"I'm sure as hell not planning on leaving you, if that's what's going through that mind of yours," he cut in, then sighed heavily and continued wearily, "We'll find our way through this, we always do, but now is not—"

"Will we?" she challenged. "You're… punishing me… without even giving me the chance to explain why I made the choice that I did. And if you truly believe what you said to me, how do we ever find our way past that? I'm not even sure I know who you are right now. The Remington Steele I know might be angry with me, but he'd at least give me the opportunity to explain, even if he disagreed with that explanation afterwards. He wouldn't go days without asking how the child I'm carrying is doing. If I can't figure out who I am any longer, and I'm no longer sure who you are, how do we get past this?"

Alarm bells sounded in his head. _She doesn't know who she is? Who I am? Where the bloody hell is this coming from?_ he wondered. Then a memory from another time came unbidden to his mind: a time when, much like now, she'd be afraid, uncertain of them, and had far too much time on her hands to think.

* * *

 _ **"Not having it has given me time to think."**_

 _ **"About what?"**_

 _ **"Is that piece of paper the only thing that's keeping us together? Do we really have anything else in common besides this agency?"**_

* * *

For the first time in years, he lifted a hand to his mouth and gnawed at a nail as panic began to set in.

"I'll call you tonight when I get home, but I must warn you it'll likely be quite late." She swallowed hard at the concession.

"Alright," she agreed, the single word all she could muster.

"I was telling the truth about those stacks of reports. If I don't get back to them…" Closing her eyes, she nodded her head, while her free hand patted her stomch.

"I'll get Olivia for you."

"Thank you. And Laura?"

"Yes?"

"Before I find myself sent packing," he voiced his own fear, "Will you please turn off that remarkable mind of yours until we speak?"

"I don't know if I can," she answered honestly, as she opened the bedroom door. "Livvie, Da's on the phone," she announced, handing over the phone to their little girl who took it eagerly.

"Da? It's Balentine's Day!" she told him, all her heartbreak echoing in each word.

"Ah, a stor, missed your party did you?" he crooned.

"Yes!" she elongated the word in bereaved wail.

"I'm so sorry. What's say we throw a Valentine's Day party of our own when you come home, and we'll invite your entire class, hmmmm?" She perked up a bit at this.

"Can we give Balentine's cards?" she worried.

"I think all the truly best Valentine's Day parties are those where funny little cards are given…"


	40. Chapter 39: Peace, Short Lived

Chapter 39: Peace, Short Lived

 _Friday, February 15_

It was well past one when Remington and Murphy dragged themselves through the front door of the Holmby Hills house. The extra hours, however, had been worth it, as they managed to match up nineteen of the handguns in Medina's house, serial numbers not yet removed, to the destruction list of the LAPD. There was, of course, nothing that tied Castoro directly to the weapons, but it was another piece of evidence which indicqted something foul afoot in the LAPD.

The day ahead loomed large. Burton, Graham, Celek and Warmack had already departed for parts unknown with two of the task force teams, as Phillips and Roberts had picked up a box truck from a secure lot that afternoon and part one of the operation had officially commenced. After their forays through the destruction list had been completed, Remington and Murphy had breached that same lot, where they'd recorded the vin numbers of all vehicles located within. That list was now sitting upon Bernice's desk with strict instructions that they'd be by no later than nine-fifteen for the ownership records.

At ten o'clock the task force would meet in the command post across town, to finalize the plans for the raids on Medina and Soto's homes. Two dozen agents for the INS would be on hand for the briefing, and the day would be spent familiarizing each team with the layout of the homes. The teams tailing Roberts and Phillips were communicating with one another via radio. At last check in, Phillips and Roberts had stopped at a truck stop outside of Phoenix for coffee and a bite to eat, during which time a tracker had been successfully attached to the underbelly of the truck and listening devices were installed under the headrests of both driver and passenger seats.

Now, they waited for word from the teams tailing Phillips and Robert and prepared for the raids to commence early the following evening.

After diving into the shower and removing the day's dirt and grime, Remington crawled into bed and reached for the mobile phone he'd tossed upon the bed on the way to the bathroom. He hesitated before dialing, uncertain of how wise it was to engage in this particular conversation so late in the night. He was still angry with Laura, for both her deception and her action. He was anxious. If these latest raids upon Castoro's interests didn't put the man behind bars, then he was prepared to pack up his family and take a long vacation to destination unknown, sod the Court and possible charges down the road. He was exhausted, both by the long hours he and Michael's had clocked in the last three days, and because he simply didn't sleep a damn any longer without Laura beside him. And now, he was a bit panic stricken, truth be told, as he'd been left to dwell for too many hours on what Laura had said.

Yet, he had not a single doubt if she hadn't heard from him by dawn, she'd be true to her word and begin the journey home. That thought, given the events unfolding later in the day, proved the inspiration he needed to dial her number.

"Hello?" her alert, strained voice came across the line.

"It's me."

"I was beginning to think—" He winced. So, she hadn't shut that mind of her down, certainly not a favorable beginning for him.

"I promised I'd call and I am," he reminded her, then added, "Just as I warned you Michaels and I had a long night ahead of us." Setting aside the Castoro files she'd been pouring over, she stood to cross the room and close the door, lest the conversation become heated. She was unwilling to chance the girls overhearing them arguing again. "Do you wish to make small talk first, or have right at it?" The words had come across snippier than he'd intended, but he was too on edge to offer up an apology.

"You were out of line, Remington," she began by way of an answer, "Both in what you said and how you've acted since." The accusation put his temper on edge, and his jaw twitched in response.

"Oh, how's that?" Irritated enough, he didn't even feel the compulsion to apologize for his biting tone.

"I didn't go to Fresno because of the case, not directly at least, and my reasoning certainly never had _anything_ to do with the Agency," she defended herself now. "It was _always_ about our family. This needs to end, sooner than later. We're here, you're there. Castoro has stolen our time together, our routines… our lives from us. The girls have missed something very important to them, I'm missing pre-natal appointments. This can't continue."

"You don't think I feel the same?" he argued. "What do you think I'm _doing_ down here?"

"Then how can you question my motives for doing what I did?" she challenged. He swept a frustrated hand through his hair. "Or is it my intelligence that's in question?" He positively glowered, unseen, at that.

"When have I ever called into question your intelligence?" he demanded to know.

"Then why didn't you give me credit for having weighed the risks before I decided to take that trip?" she retorted, her temper rising. "We didn't garner any untoward interest when we were in town the day prior. We weren't tailed either on the way into town or on the way back to the cabins. Hell, even you felt secure enough to come by." He had no answer for that, because he had, indeed, felt precisely that.

"Laura…" He drew out her name, attempting to calm her.

"No! Don't 'Laura' me," she riposted. "How is what I've done any different than what you yourself did?!"

"Laura…" he tried again.

"Then to completely shut me out as you have?" she continued, as though he'd been unheard. "How many time do I have to tell you what it does to me? And it's made only worse when we're here and you're there and I have no way of figuring out what you're thinking? And on the heels of you accusing me of putting you, my children second to 'the case, the mystery, the Agency'." He cringed as she tossed his own words back at him. "Is that really how you feel?" she questioned, her voice rising in her angst. He searched his heart for an answer to the question and found himself shaking his head in the negative.

"No. No, I don't." He found a certain measure of comfort in his answer.

"Then why? Why would you say that to me?" she posed the question then continued without answer. "I don't know what more I can do to prove where my priorities lie. For eight months, I've stepped aside, have allowed others to do the job I love. I don't question it when Olivia is sick and wants me home with her. I'm here with the girls. What more can I do?"

"Laura, I'm sorry," he apologized with no little contrition. "I was upset. After what happened Saturday—"

"I don't want you to be sorry, Remington. I need to know it's not going to happen again. Do you have any idea what it's been like for me, sitting here for two days knowing I'd been tried and found guilty in your eyes, even if you didn't have all the facts? Wondering if this was it? If you'd finally found I'd done something so egregious in your mind that you would turn and walk away?"

"How many times have I told you I'm not going anywhere?" he reminded her, quietly.

"How am I supposed to believe that when you so easily leave me behind in your head, your heart, when you're angry with me?" Guilt gave him a quick kick in the shin as she made no attempt to disguise her injury from him.

"I'm here, doing what I can to rid our lives of Castoro," he offered, rationally. "Shouldn't that, in itself, tell you the place you, our family, hold in my life? Hmmm?" Silence greeted the question. On the other side of the line, two fingers reached up to rub her brow, as she sucked her lips in while trying to regain control of her emotions. "Laura, you and I, we've been fighting since the very beginning. Yet still, here we are. I'm here, unless you send me on my way." She drew in a long, shaky breath.

"In that case, I'm afraid your stuck with me, Mr. Steele." The first real smile in days lifted his lips and lit up his eye at the words.

"Ah, that's my fondest of hopes, Mrs. Steele." Silently, she let the breath she'd been holding out. "I've missed you, Laura. Of my own doing I know, but I've missed you all the same. Now, tell me, how's baby Steele?"

"Restless… especially at night, and his father's not here to convince him settle down." She stood and crossed the room to reopen her door.

"Not getting much sleep, are you?" He listened as fabric rustled while she climbed into bed.

"No. You don't sound all that well-rested yourself," she observed. He chucked lightly.

"Once more, I've been reminded I don't sleep worth a damn without you next to me." He settled down on his back in their bed, slinging an arm over his eyes.

"Then maybe we'll both get some sleep tomorrow night," she suggested, then, closing her eyes, allowed herself a second to loathe the nervousness her next questions brought on. "You are still coming up for the weekend?"

"Mmmm. Absolutely, although it might be much later than I'd like." Her eyes popped back open and she frowned.

"Why? What's going on?" He filled her in on the happenings since last they'd talked. She closed her eyes again and bit her lower lip as he finished telling her of the plans for later that day. "Remington…"

"You've nothing to worry about. Neither Michaels nor I will be directly involved in any of it," he assured. "I simply wish to stay until I know where we stand with Castoro and that our associates have come through it whole and well." She nodded her head, in relief.

"And the house?"

"Ah, I didn't have a chance to mention it Tuesday before…" He left the thought hanging, thinking better of mentioning the argument, lest things be stirred up again. "I called Meredith. Made an all cash offer at twenty-five percent less than the asking. They countered at twenty. It's ours, if you want it."

"I do," she admitted reluctantly, drawing out the words.

"But…" She snorted quiet laugh.

"I've always been a city girl, and now I'm about to become one of _those_ people." He laughed low in his throat at her admission.

"Ah, but just think of it, Laura. Long afternoons spent on the beach right outside our back door, the children…"

They spoke until well after three, when her soft sigh told him she'd finally fallen asleep.

"Sweet dreams, love," he bade, even though she was unable to hear. With a smile, he disconnected their call then allowed sleep to steal him away as well.

* * *

"I love you, Da," Livvie told Remington as the time for their call came to an end.

"Ah, a stor, not nearly so much as I do you. I'll see you when you wake in the morning," he promised. "Now, let me say goodnight to Sophie, hmmmm?" Livvie handed the phone to Sophie, who took it tentatively, although her eyes were lit with excitement at the thought of a father wishing to speak with her.

"Hello?" Her soft, uncertain voice, brought a smile to the man she spoke to. Even such small steps as these were huge milestones for the little girl who'd held her silence when she'd first come to them.

"We've a busy morn' ahead of us, Sophie Bird," he announced. The little girl giggled on the other side of the line, as he hoped she might.

"I'm not a bird," she chortled, the name tickling her enough she momentarily forgot her reticence.

"Oh, and why is that?" he questioned, coaching her to speak further.

"Cuz I can't fly!" was her gleeful reply.

"Neither can Olivia, but she's my little bee, buzzing about here and there from the time she wakes." He hummed as he pretended to consider the plight she'd presented. "No, no. A bird you are. Do you know why?"

"No," she drew out the word, her curiosity painting the word.

"Because the sound of birds singing is beautiful and so is the sound of your voice to me," he explained. Laura would have sworn the little girl blushed at whatever it was Remington had said to her, but, blush aside, it was clear he was charming his way into Sophie's heart. "In fact, you remind me of an Irish Blessing I once learned as a lad. Would you care to hear it?"

"Yes," she answered, suddenly shy once more.

"'May flowers always line your path and sunshine light your day,'" he recited from memory. "'May songbirds serenade your every step along the way. May a rainbow run beside you in a sky that's always blue. And may happiness fill your heart each day your whole life through.' Now, a thaisce, go to sleep and dream of rainbows, and I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay," she agreed, then handed Laura the phone without saying goodbye.

"I'll be right back for your story," she promised the girls then stepped just outside their doorway. "Have you heard from Burton and Celek, Graham and Warmack?"

"Not a word in the last couple of hours," he answered. "Last we heard, they were near the border in Presidio, TX and it appeared Roberts and Phillips stopped for a bit of a kip. The raids of Medina and Soto's home went smoothly, however: seventeen young women, Medina and Soto are all in the questionably capable hands of the INS."

"The guns?"

"Being brought into evidence as we speak," he confirmed. "Even with Thibodeaux and his men cataloging, they'll be at until late tonight."

"What time do we expect you?"

"I'll be on my way as soon as I'm certain our people are in the clear. Planning on waiting up for me?"

"I'm considering it," she smiled. "I may even have a little surprise for you."

"Ah, Laura, tell me it involves lace and satin." Sitting on the chair catty-corner to him, Murphy let out a disgusted groan. Remington, in turn, flashed him a smug smile.

"It might," she teased.

"You've no idea how completely you fulfill every fantasy I've ever had of you," he murmured, suppressing a laugh as Murphy grumbled beneath his breath. He looked up with the doorbell peeled. "That may be Westfield now. With a little luck, I'll be relieving you of that surprise in just a couple of hours."

"I'm looking forward to it."

"I'll call when I'm on my way." Disconnecting the call, he stood to answer the door.

"Steele, you might warn a guy," Murphy bemoaned.

"And ruin the enjoyment I find in your pained expressions? No, I don't believe I'll be doing that," he laughed, as he disappeared from the room and stepped into the entry way. Swinging the door open, he blinked in surprise but appeared outwardly undisturbed. "Castoro," he greeted in a voice louder than normal. "If you're hoping to see Sophie—" He took two steps backwards, automatically holding up both hands, when two men stepped from the shadows and leveled their guns on him. "While I've been left to my own devices for the evening, if you wished to keep me company, I'd have preferred your friends bring a decent scotch rather than hardware," he quipped, hoping Murphy would pick up on what he was trying to relay. In the living room, Murphy eased towards the kitchen, removing his gun from its holster and he ducked down behind the island.

"You and I, Mr. Steele, have a little business to discuss," Castoro informed him, as one of the men with a gun waived him backwards into the house, the door clicking shut behind the trio, ominously.

* * *

Laura fingered the hem of her robe nervously, while staring blindly at the television where a showing of _House Boat_ (Cary Grant, Sophia Loren, Paramount, 1958) was droning on. It had been nearly two hours since she'd hung up with Remington. Even allowing for an extended briefing, he should have called long before now. Picking up the mobile phone from where it lay on the couch next to her, she checked the battery indicator for the second time in the past half hour, finding it fully charged. Frustrated, she tossed it down, then pushing awkwardly to her feet, walked to the door of the cabin and swung it open, the cool, evening air washing over her.

Leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb, she wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed at them with her hands, while debating whether or not to call him.

"Everything alright, Mrs. Steele?" She started when the booming voice of Tank came seemingly from the darkness. Narrowing her eyes, she spotted the man sitting in the shadows outside of his cabin.

"Everything's fine," she prevaricated then added, truthfully, "Just waiting for Mr. Steele to call. It's a bit chilly, tonight. I'm going to go back inside. Don't stay out here too long."

"Yes, ma'am."

Back inside the cabin, she checked on the girls, before resuming her seat on the couch. She tried to watch the movie, she really did, but there had always been something about Grant that reminded her of Remington, so naturally her attention returned to her tardy husband. She simply couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Getting to her feet again, she began to pace, her tension mounting with each passing minute. By the time another half hour had passed, she'd growled in frustration and picking up the mobile phone, dialed his number. The other line rang three, six, eleven times, with no answer forthcoming. Disconnecting the call, she tossed the phone down in frustration and stepped outside again, taking long, deep breaths of the cool, evening air, trying to ward off the anxiety that was threatening to overwhelm her.

"Still no word, Mrs. Steele?" Tank's voice came from the shadows again.

"No," she drew out the word. "Tank, do you know anything about mobile phones?" She'd been debating calling Remington's car phone, the house phone, but had no idea, if Castoro was tracing their calls or having their call logs monitored, if the mobile phone would give up her location.

"Yes, ma'am. Monroe makes sure we all know about the stuff we sell in the stores."

"If I call my house on the mobile, do you know if a phone log will show the location I'm calling from?"

"That I don't know, ma'am. How to make a call, coverage areas. That's the kind of thing I meant." She nodded, her head slowly and rubbed at her arms.

The tones of a breaking news announcement resounding from the TV registered in the back of her mind, but she paid it no heed. As young as 1991 was, such breaks in regularly scheduled broadcasting had become the norm, especially after the launch of Operation Desert Storm in mid-January although the mid-air collision of a US Air Boeing with a SkyWest Metroliner only two weeks past had, deservedly, called for many such breaks in programming. Right now, however, her concern lay with Remington and why she hadn't yet heard from him. She'd needed the end of this week to go smoothly, given its tumultuous middle… especially since she'd planned to broach what was sure to be a touchy subject on Sunday evening: A brief return to LA for a prenatal visit with Dr. Adams and for Sophia to comply with court orders regarding the paternity test. They could, after all, only set their lives on the backburner for so long and there were pressing matters at—

 _We're here on the scene in Holmby Hills, where neighbors are reporting a barrage of gunfire could be heard less than two hours ago from only three houses down._

The words 'Holmby Hills' uttered by the familiar voice of Windsor Thomas drew Laura's attention to the TV with an audible gasp. A cabin over, Tank came to his feet as Laura rushed inside to stare at the television. Tank threw open the door to his cabin.

"Dozer, Mrs. Steele's cabin, now," he barked the order, then ran the short distance to the second cabin, skidding to a halt behind her, gun drawn.

 _The home, believed to be that of LA Detectives Laura and Remington Steele, remains surrounded by emergency vehicles from numerous agencies. According to an anonymous source, two men were taken from the scene with life threatening injuries and are currently undergoing emergency surgery._

"No, no, no," Laura repeated the words insistently as she rushed to the couch and grabbed the mobile phone, frantically dialing Remington's number as Dozer barreled into the cabin, his weapon also drawn.

 _Per that same source an ambush style attack was launched on the occupants of the home. At least two arrests have been made, including that of an unnamed, high ranking official at the LAPD._

"Answer the phone, Remington. Answer the phone," she pleaded aloud.

 _I imagine this hits close to home for you, Windsor._

 _That it does, Tom. A few years ago, I worked very closely with Laura and Remington when we were trying to locate Billie Young for a Showtime Cavalcade reunion, which ended with our own Lou Mackler, owner of the Baxter Broadcasting group, being arrested for murder. I can tell you, first hand, that Los Angeles is a far better place with Remington Steele a part of it. His loss would be tremendous._

"Dozer, tell Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald they need to get here," Tank commanded, transfixed himself by the broadcast. Dozer turned on his heel and raced from the room.

Laura punched the 'end' button viciously, then despite previous worries dialed the number of the house. When it rang incessantly with no answer, she ended the call and dialed Remington's car phone.

 _I'll be on the scene throughout the evening until we find out what happened here on this tragic possibly tragic night. For now, back to you, Tom._

The car phone, like the mobile and house phone, rang incessantly, unanswered. By the time she ended the third call, Laura was visibly shaking, as she was assailed by the memories of another shooting not even three years in the past. Her breathing quickened, grew shallow, and she grabbed at her stomach, all the while repeated, unaware she was doing so…

"No, no, no. Not again." She fought back her mounting anxiety, battling for a clear head. She needed to _think_. Then it came to her. "Tank. Monroe. Call Monroe," she ordered, shoving the phone at the burly man. He took it without question and punched in his boss's number, as she sank down onto the couch. After lowering the volume on the television, she dropped the remote next to her, her hand moving to her stomach to caress it absently.

"Mrs. Jocelyn? I need to speak with the boss man. Looks like we've got trouble…." His eyes darted to Laura where she sat on the couch, still shaking, still struggling to stay calm. "No, ma'am. Mrs. Steele is fine. Just worried is all… The babies are sleeping, have no idea anything's the matter… Thank you… Monroe, there's been trouble over at the Steele's place. It was just on the news up here… A shooting… Yes, sir. Big one from what that news lady said…" His eyes tracked over Laura again. "Not so hot... Dozer's gone to get them… Yes, sir. We'll be waiting." He turned Laura after ending the call. "Monroe's headed to your place right now, Mrs. Steele."

She nodded in answer then pushed to her feet when Thomas and Catherine rushed through the door to the cabin, wrapped in their robes.

"Laura, what it is it?" Thomas demanded to know, as he took in her pallor, rapid breathing and the worried tilt of her eyes.

"There was a shooting, at the house," she answered, forcing the words past her lips. "Two men with 'life threatening injuries." Catherine gasped, and reached for the arm of the chair, sitting down hard.

"My son?" Thomas implored. She could feel his own fear in the way his hands grasped her upper arms. She lifted sorrowful brown eyes to his.

"I don't know," she shook her head. "The news didn't say. Monroe's on his way to the house now."

Thomas led her to the couch, and sat down with her, grasping her hand in a steel-like grip. The six adults sat in silence, waiting for the phone to ring, be it Monroe, or should fate see fit, Remington.

It seemed every sound was magnified. The tick of the second hand on Thomas's watch. The rustling of material as Catherine's fingers fretted with her robe. The tap, tap, tapping of the toes of Tank's shoe against the floor as he waited impatiently for the mobile phone to ring. The nonsensical mumbles of one of the girls as she slept. The rhythmic throb of her racing pulse beating in her head.

Ten minutes.

Twenty.

Then thirty without word.

Laura suddenly straightened, pulling her hand away from Thomas's and searching frantically for the remote.

"Turn it up, turn it up!" she demanded to no one in particular. Dozer reached over and turned up the volume manually.

 _Thank you, Tom. This Windsor Thomas reporting from Holmby Hills, the site of a shooting earlier this evening at the home of famed LA private detectives Laura and Remington Steele. We've just learned one of the two men transported to the hospital for emergency surgery has died from his injuries. As of now, the identity of the man has not been released. We'll be back, live, when we have more information. Back to you, Tom._

Laura couldn't find the words, as fear clenched at her heart and tightened her throat. With a shaking hand, she reached for Thomas's again, only to pull it away so she could lunge for the mobile when its ringer began to peal. She stabbed clumsily at the answer button.

"Remington?" Her hopes that he was he were futile, as Monroe's voice came over the line.

"It is only I," he announced. She drew in a sharp breath and held it.

"Is he okay?" she rasped the question.

"I do not know," came his apology filled reply. "The patrolmen standing guard at the end of the drive would neither allow me to pass nor answer my questions. I am now on my way to the command post at our warehouse. I hope to find someone there whom might provide the answers you need." She bit down hard on her lip, muffling the tears that wished to come, and shoved the phone towards Tank.

"It's me, boss…" He observed Laura for a scant second. "Not good... Yes, sir..."

"Mommy?" Into the chaos came a little voice, followed by a tiny three-year-old rubbing at her eyes as she walked out of the bedroom. "Is Da here?" Laura looked with alarm from their little girl to the television then to Tank on the phone, and got to her feet as quickly as she could, while plastering the icy cool demeanor for which she was known onto her face.

"Not yet, Livvie Bee," she answered, leaning over and picking her daughter up. "Did we wake you?" she asked, as she carried Olivia back to the bedroom.

"It's not morning yet?"

"No, not quite yet, baby," she replied, leaning over with her heavy load, and laying Olivia back down on the bed where Sophie still slept soundly.

She pulled sheet and blanket back over the child and tucked her in, before sitting down next to her and caressing her head and hair until she fell back to sleep. Her face crumpled as she stood, wondering how she'd ever explain it to Olivia if something had happened to Remington, then sucked in a sudden, harsh breath before returning on unsteady feet to the living room. Thomas stood immediately and approached her, taking her into his embrace.

"We must believe all will be well," he insisted. For the briefest of moments, she allowed herself his comfort, even as she shook her head against his chest.

"Will it?" she asked forlornly, tipping back her head to look at him, her eyes reflecting every ounce of the fear rollicking through her small frame. She pulled free of his embrace, then thought to add…

"My water just broke."


End file.
